DIY Success
by deinvati
Summary: Tom Hardy is much too good looking to not be getting laid in this series. We need to do something about that. Alfie Solomons has a candidate for his bakery's new foreman. Spoiler alert: not a man. Things are about to get steamy in the bakery. Alfie Solomons/OC, Canon Compliant, No Spoilers. Now COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

DIY Success

"The distinction between bread and rum in this bakery is NOT DISCUSSED!"

* * *

Chapter 1

Alfie sat at his desk, frowning at the paperwork in front of him. Just when he thought he'd completed more paperwork than any self-respecting gangster had an obligation to, Ollie would shuffle more in. His frown turned to a scowl and he shoved the papers and spectacles away from him and dragged a hand down his face. He debated the benefit of an early morning helping of white bread vs how much he needed to get done today. He still had work to oversee out on the floor this afternoon and a few-

"Fuck it."

He already hated everything, one drink wasn't going to be the tipping point of his day. Alfie hauled himself out of his chair and ambled to the liquor cart just as a knock sounded at the door. Ollie-damn that useless infant. He couldn't make a decision on his own if the choices were blonde or brunette and lined up in front of him.

As the door behind him opened without waiting for an answer, Alfie felt his mask slide back in place. He hadn't realised how far the combination of boredom and exhaustion had dropped his guard. He couldn't see him, but he could sense Ollie's hesitation and he took his time measuring out a healthy few fingers of the white.

"What the fuck is it?" he barked when it became apparent that Ollie wasn't going to speak.

"Um...sir, uh. Sir, there's someone here about the foreman position, and I...I thought...you'd..." Ollie fumbled.

"Mmph," Alfie grunted, replacing the bottle. "Well, send him up."

Ollie hesitated. "Uh, well, sir, actually..."

"Actually?" Alfie's voice sharpened.

"Actually, I'm already up," a decidedly non-male voice stated behind him.

Alfie turned and took in the sight before him.

She was fair skinned and the dark hair that peeked out from under her hat curled prettily around her face. Her dress had a stylish dropped waist but the material was sturdy, no doubt something that was meant to last through many washings. Nonetheless, the pale green colour suited her, and she probably knew it.

"Mabel Ziemann," she said, reaching out her hand. Alfie's sharp eyes took in her calloused hands and muscled forearm before he met her grip in a shake rather than with a kiss. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she looked absurdly pleased he'd noticed this about her.

"Ms Ziemann. What can I do for you?" Alfie's tone was neither friendly or rude, but very purposefully neutral. His face gave nothing away, and he couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a flash of uncertainty before it was covered up and a shawl of determination and confidence settled around her shoulders.

"As your man said, I'm here about the foreman position I'd heard about. I brought a list of my qualifications-"

"Ah, that position had been filled," Alfie interrupted. He moved around the desk to take her elbow. "Sorry about the waste of a trip, Ollie here can show you out."

Mabel gently removed her elbow from his grip and looked directly into Alfie's face. He watched her look him over, deliberately taking in the way he appeared, shoulders carefully rounded, beard deliberately scruffy. He stood with a slight hunch, bringing their eyes almost level. However, at his full height, he would easily be able to overwhelm her, and as carefully constructed as this facade was, his reputation as an unlit but short fuse was far-reaching.

Whatever conclusions she'd drawn from her appraisal, she kept to herself. "My qualifications were gathered as a factory foreman during the war," she said simply. "I'm strong, I work hard, I'm smart, and I have a background that can help run your...bakery."

Alfie held his hand up to stop her. "Ollie?" he said, without taking his eyes off of Mabel. She met his gaze calmly.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Fuck off."

"Yeah, boss."

As the door closed behind him, Alfie crossed his arms and leant back on his overflowing desk. He regarded her coolly and she folded her hands and let him. His slumped posture belied his intelligent blue eyes, and he studied the woman in front of him: A woman used to being in a man's world, in fact being in charge of men in a man's world. He'd expected haughtiness, anger, maybe even brashness from her, but she just looked back at him with calm confidence.

"Mmph."

It wasn't, but she took that as a sign to continue. "I know what you're working on here, and I know you need someone to run this side of things. I'm new in town, I don't have ties anywhere else and no obligations outside of these walls. I can increase your production by 5% in the next year, 15% in the next two. In my last job I handled hiring, paperwork, layoffs, strikes, scabbers, the production floor and firing. This is actually a bit of a smaller operation, although more specialised, so it may be possible for me to..."

"Fuck me. I'm gonna stop you, love. You had me at 'paperwork'."

Mabel aimed a small smile at his messy desk. Her mischievous brown eyes flashed as she asked, "Did I now?"

Alfie recognised the tease for what it was: an attempt to align herself with him and put them on equal footing. He wasn't going to let it work, but he respected her for the attempt all the same.

"Mmph," he grunted. "Tell you what, sweetheart. Why don't you talk to Ollie on your way out, we could use a good secretary round here and he can get you a desk set up by the end of the month."

He didn't wait for her reaction, just turned back to the liquor cart he'd abandoned earlier.

She didn't let the 'sweetheart' or the 'secretary' jibe affect her. She saw them for what they were: a test, and she looked ready for any he saw fit to throw out.

"Mr Solomons, I'd be happy to start as foreman right away, tomorrow if you like, and I could even be talked into accepting only a pound more than the going wage, even though I bring much more to the table than you've been currently used to."

She, on the other hand, did wait for his reaction, like she had all the time in the world.

Alfie felt a genuine laugh bubble up in his chest, although he refused to let it out. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow and let her sweat. Cheeky Jewish girl, far from home but confident she could walk into any of the factories on Camden Road and do a better job than the current bloke. Hmm. Paperwork indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

Alfie made a decision and downed his glass in one go.

"Right, love. Drop off your qualifications, I'll take a look and we'll settle up tomorrow. Come back then."

It was a clear dismissal. Mabel eyed him, weighing his response, like she was trying to decide if this was also a test. She decided it wasn't, so she'd better start off the way she'd like to continue.

"It's Ms Ziemann, if you please, sir," and she pursed her lips, spit quickly into her palm, and held it out to shake.

This time, Alfie did smile. It was there and gone in a flash, but definitely there. He set down his glass, copied her actions, and shook Mabel's hand. He was pleased with her firm handshake. He couldn't wait to see what she could do.

Alfie was in motion the second her skirt swished out of sight. "OLLIE. Get your arse in here."

His curly head poked in the door.

"Get Abe to follow her, find out if she has any connections to the Blinders or Sabini. If she does, take care of her. I'm not puttin' up with their fuckin' shite anymore, make sure they knows it."

"Got it, boss."

Alfie picked up her papers and began to read. Halfway through, he pulled his phone closer to him and lifted the handset.

* * *

Mabel managed to contain her excitement until she got to the street, but after that, she couldn't stop the grin that spread over her face. The wind whipped her and she had to grab her hat regardless of her hatpin, but she didn't care. She'd done it, she could feel it in her bones. The biggest of the hurdles had already been surpassed, she'd won him over. Alfie Solomons was not the first arsehole she'd had to deal with, and he probably wouldn't be the last.

The thought of Alfie spread a warm, giddy sensation through her, and she mentally scowled at herself. _'What on earth is the matter with you, Mabe? You're probably just excited about the job. I mean, sure, he's good looking-wait. Good looking? Seriously, did that just cross my mind as a fully-formulated thought? What is_ wrong _with me?'_

She chided herself while she sidestepped end-of-winter slush and murky puddles on her way to the boarding house. Yes, okay, she was lonely in this big city, and fine, she'd been wound pretty tightly, but he wasn't anything amazing, she scolded herself.

Except for his eyes. She could admit that, even to herself. Sharp, intelligent no matter what he'd have you believe, and when he looked at her, she felt he could see right through her. Blue eyes, icy at times, stormy at others, with perfect crinkles at the corners when she'd made him smile. His smile was nice too, full bottom lip quirked up at the side, but that was probably more about her being able to make him smile than anything else. It did make her wonder, though, what his laugh would sound like. How often did gangsters get to laugh, she wondered.

That thought pulled her out of her reverie. ' _Gangster_ ', she chided herself. ' _Stupid_ Yaldeh _. What are you doing, mooning about your boss's mouth? I mean, eyes? Only eyes, and nothing more? I mean,_ hopefully _your boss? Oh, for crying out loud, stop thinking.'_

With a shake of her head, she looked up to see she'd made it to her boarding house. ' _Apparently, time passes quickly when you're being dumb_.' She grappled her key from her purse, knowing it would be unlocked but hoping anyway that Mrs Feinstein had started locking up even if she was in the house. Mabel sighed as the knob turned easily in her grasp. Well, she couldn't say she hadn't tried to convince her.

"Hello? Mrs Feinstein?"

"In the kitchen, dear!"

She set her purse and hat on the side table and navigated through the big sitting room. When she reached it, the kitchen was warm, cosy, and smelled of bread and home. Mrs Feinstein's expectant face greeted her.

"Well? How did it go?"

"I think...I think it went well, ma'am."

"Oh, now, you stop it with the 'ma'am' nonsense. I told you, call me Mrs F if you can't handle Anna. We business women have to stick together! No one else is looking out for us, after all." She turned back to the stove, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Yes, ma'am." Mabel smiled to herself at that. Mrs F had been a business woman a lot longer than she had. According to the other tenants, she'd been running the house 'since time out of mind'. Mabel knew from first-hand experience how difficult it was to find and keep reputable employment if you were a woman, even now after the war, and she couldn't help but admire the grizzled woman in front of her. She also couldn't guiltily help but think of her parents, back home. They didn't approve of her working, not even before she'd packed up and moved to the big city. But she knew that no matter their disapproval, they'd always take her in if she truly needed it. She doubted Mrs F had had such a safety net.

"Did you see Ollie when you were there?"

"Briefly, I didn't get a chance to talk to him, though, or even really introduce myself. He seems very important." Mabel wasn't above smoothing her way with flattery if she could get away with it.

"Ah, yes, he's always running off doing what needs to be done for Mr Solomons, who is a pretty big mover and shaker, I don't mind telling you." Her pride was evident on her face. Mabel was fairly sure that even if Mrs F wasn't 100% certain what went on at the "bakery", she had a pretty good idea, so it warmed her heart to see her proud of her son anyway. And why not, she asked herself. It's not everyone that gets to be the right hand of a man so influential and powerful. Even if he was unreachable and a little bit terrifying.

Almost as if picking up on her train of thought, Mrs F said from the cutting board, "You watch out for that one, now. He's not a good man." Brandishing her knife and punctuating her words, Mabel let her rant. She didn't actually give her any new information about the bakery or its mysterious owner, although if she'd been pumping her for gossip about the neighbours, she'd have been set.

Mabel made to head to her room, waving her hand at the admonition that supper was promptly at 7, whether she was there or not.

"Oh, I almost forgot! There's a letter for you from Lincoln. Friend from back home?" Mrs F produced the envelope from her apron pocket and watched for Mabel's reaction.

She didn't have to wait long. As soon as Mabel spotted the familiar feminine scrawl across the front, she squealed. "Oh, it's my _best_ friend! She said she'd write, but she's always so busy..." she trailed off as she ripped the paper and devoured the words within. "She wants to come visit! Oh, wouldn't that be lovely? I love it here, but sometimes I do get so homesick. Hazel would be just the cure."

"Hazel?" Mrs F asked.

"Yes, Hazel Tritton," Mabel remarked offhandedly. "She's been my best friend since we were both in nappies, and we have always had such fun! When my shift would be over at The Mill, she and I would grab a big group of friends and talk some of the boys from The Mill into taking us dancing. We would stay out late, smoking and drinking and my parents would be furious when I came home." She smiled at the deluge of memories.

"Is she a business woman herself, then?"

"Oh, Hazel? No, definitely not! No, she's one of those bright young things, bored and spending her parents' money. She'll probably never work a day in her life if she can help it."

Mrs F thought she might have imagined the storm cloud that crossed Mabel's face at the mention of 'parent's money', but decided to change the subject anyway. "When is she comin' down?"

"Hmm. Says she's thinking end of the month. Do you think that'll be alright? Could she stay here?"

"Well I don't see why not, but she's sleeping on the cot in your room. I'll not be using up a whole room on your friend, not when there's paying customers to put up."

"Yes, ma'am!" Mabel's glee caused her to take the stairs two at a time up to her room. She sat at her tiny desk to draft a quick reply to her friend and let her know she was anxiously awaited. Then she grabbed her ever-present notebook to jot down her impressions of what she'd seen of the still while they were fresh in her mind.

* * *

Alfie's feet were on his desk and he chewed a toothpick while he pondered what Abe had reported. If she really was working for someone, it was either incredibly brilliant or incredibly stupid that they'd had her lodging at Ollie's mother's boarding house. He just couldn't decide which.

But, he decided, she couldn't have known that he actually had a contact (well, a contact with a contact) at the factory she'd listed as previous employment. He'd called, and Mabel had checked out, with glowing reports. Apparently, she had a reputation as being calm and clever, was best friends with the boss's daughter, and was made foreman at the recommendation of her coworkers. Still, an easily verified work history and apparently good qualifications didn't necessarily mean she wasn't in someone's pocket.


	3. Chapter 3

Mabel's entire body thrummed with energy as she surged through her morning routine. ' _Ok, calm down. You don't have the job yet, even though you should have the job, and you will, but you don't, so CALM DOWN. Right. There's no sense getting worked up.'_ Far too early, she was ready, feet encased in her favorite work boots, her sturdy plain dress hugging her curves. It was a fine line, looking good but not too good, and Mabel had it down to a science.

Too early for Mrs. F's breakfast, she snuck some bread out of the kitchen and grabbed her hat and purse. Maybe the walk would calm her down. She found herself at the steps leading to the still and took a few calming breaths. She could do this. She squared her shoulders and headed up.

Surprisingly, the lamps were lit in Alfie's office. She'd expected an early shift to be in swing but thought she'd just get acquainted with the layout and confirm some of her guesses she'd written down yesterday. Well, if the man himself was available, she might as well find out if it was worth the trouble.

Alfie's gruff, "What the fuck is it?" answered her knock, and she let herself in. He was hunched over working on something but glanced up when she entered. Then he tossed his glasses on the pile that was his desk before leaning back and propping his feet up.

"So, Ms. Ziemann. Fosters of Lincoln, eh? S'a pretty big place to be foreman."

"Yes, sir, although we always called it 'The Mill'. I can assure you, sir, that my work speaks for itself. I was foreman there for two years over the agricultural machin..."

"Oh, shut up, shut up," Alfie flapped a hand at her. "That's not what I need to know."

Mabel hesitated. "O...kay."

"What I need to know is...can you get me a tank?"

Mabel laughed. Then she watched Alfie's eyes stare steadily into hers. Clearly he wasn't kidding. She cleared her throat.

"I...will see what I can do. Sir."

"Fabulous. Now that we have the most important bit out of the way, day shift starts at 7 am. You'll be on a trial basis until I decide if you're worth paying, and your desk will be out on the floor. Ollie will show you around. You're here early, so you can get started on paperwork right away, he's not here anyway and there's enough here to keep us busy until the savior comes, so have at." He started stacking papers, mindless of any order, just obviously eager to get rid of them.

"Thank you, Mr. Solomons, that sounds perfect. Except, of course for the part where you're not going to pay me, and I'll need to know where I can move my desk so it's not on the floor. Otherwise, we are on exactly the same page." Mabel smiled sweetly and held her hand out for the stack of papers.

"Ah, fuck, I don't care where you move it. You're not gonna bother me with shite like this, are ya?"

"Of course not, sir," she said, accepting the stack. "Also, here is the minimum wage I'd be willing to accept during this trial period, and the length of time I expect it will last. Beyond that, we'll have to discuss." She slid a slip of paper from her pocket over the desk to him.

He eyed the paper then picked it up to look at it closer. "What the fuck is that? No, no, no, you'll get maybe half of that and you'll like it." He spun the slip through the air back at her.

"Oh," Mabel said, looking sadly at the ground. She regretfully slid the stack of papers back into Alfie's hands and sighed dramatically. "Well, it was a good run. I've really enjoyed my time here in your...office. I hope we can do it again sometime."

"Now...wait a minute, woman, wait a minute." Alfie glared at her, shoving the papers back at her. "Come on! You're not going to give me any budge on that number?! Damn it, that's just...that's _cruel_ is what that is." He gave up trying to get her to take the papers and threw them on his desk instead. "Fuck, and people call me heartless."

Mabel fought off the urge to laugh and returned his glare coolly. She sighed again. "Mr. Solomons, sir, I am worth every farthing of the money listed there, plus quite a few more that I am not charging you. If you cannot come up with at least three-quarters of that, well, I'm afraid you won't get to have me be cruel to you ever again."

For a second, heat flashed in Alfie's eyes at that, so fast she wasn't sure she saw it at all and then he carefully narrowed them at her. He stared silently for a few seconds. "Two-thirds."

"Six-eighths," she countered.

Alfie's grin spread unhindered across his bearded face. "Well, fuck." He threw his hands up. "Fine!" he declared. "Shortest negotiation of my natural life. My father is rolling in his grave right now, I just want you to know that. On pain of death, this does not leave this office, yeah?"

"Yeah, boss." She matched his grin wholeheartedly, spit on her palm and clapped it to his.

* * *

The first few days on the job passed by in a whirl of names, faces, procedures, and safety precautions. Say what you want about illegal distilleries, they're more flammable than anything she'd worked in before and she wasn't letting any disasters happen on her watch.

Occasionally she'd sense Alfie's eyes on her, but couldn't pin him down long enough to eye him back, let alone talk to him. He was the least of her concerns because he wasn't wrong about needing a new foreman. She found herself staying late and coming in early, just to try and make a dent in the backlog of work she'd faced. She knew she had Alfie himself to thank for the mountains of paperwork that sluiced her way, a flood she knew wouldn't stop on its own anytime soon. Fortunately, as she got to know the crew a little better, she found a refreshing number of people she genuinely liked, and could be trusted to pick up additional tasks. She took it upon herself to make small changes, and as she didn't hear anything back from the man upstairs, a few bigger ones. Oh, she didn't have any delusions that she was pulling any wool over Alfie's eyes, but thus far he hadn't stopped her and she was grateful for the freedom to make things better.

After the first two weeks, she felt she'd gotten a handle on things well enough that she finally accepted the office girls' offer of a night on the town. She'd been in London long enough and still didn't really feel like she lived there yet. Plus, when Hazel came, she wanted to be able to paint the town, show her the best clubs and enjoy herself again. So she gratefully joined them on their regularly scheduled nights of debauchery and excess and remembered how to breathe. They would grab boys from the floor to take with them, just like back home. Ollie and Abe were regulars, but they seemed to have a ready pool to choose from and while many of the girls wound up "sharing a cab" at the end of the night with the man of their choosing, Mabel wasn't interested in anything outside of drinks and dancing. She wasn't a puritan, far from it, in fact. But she knew the tightrope she had to walk was fine as it was, and any kind of relationship with one of her subordinates was drama she didn't want. ' _Maybe someday I'll have a life outside of the still and I'll be able to meet a man that won't bore me stupid inside of ten minutes_ ', she lamented regularly.

Although she'd heard rumors of Alfie's black temper, by week three she finally got to experience one for herself. He could make grown men wet themselves if he wanted, and she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd done so in the past. No one would tell her if it had actually happened, but that didn't stop her from opening a pool to guess the next time it would. She found out later that there was a side pool as to who it was going to be and she patted herself on the back that while her name was in the pool, there weren't many takers. The tongue lashing she and her crew suffered through Tuesday morning was nothing, though, compared to the one she had to face when she went to his office by herself. She'd needed his approval on the new floor plan she'd devised for the layout of barrels, tools, etc, and she'd come prepared to defend her ideas with percentages, facts, and testimonies but didn't even get close to a chance to use them. Alfie's diatribe rolled over her and eventually, when it started to seem very personal, she looked at Ollie for any clues as to where this was coming from. Naturally Alfie noticed her glance at his right-hand man and launched into an even more vicious rant about how _he_ was the boss, not Ollie, and there are _rules_ and how everyone in this town could respect a rule he'd lay down, except apparently, for Mabel Fucking Ziemann, and Mabel eventually tuned it out. She didn't let her wary eyes leave his, though, and she supplied nods and 'Yes, sir's in all the right places while mentally she sifted through her actions for the past three weeks to figure out just what the fuck he was so bloody mad about.

When Alfie paused to breathe, Mabel licked her lips and tucked a curl behind her ear. She had just taken a breath to calm herself when she noticed the look that flashed over Alfie's face. He was staring at her lips like they were his last meal and he couldn't hide the lust and pure _want_ that contorted his handsome features. The look hit her like lightning, but as soon as it had a chance to register and her slow body formulated an appropriate (but not work appropriate) reaction, he had himself under control again and had dismissed her with his standard "Now fuck off."

' _Well_ ,' she told herself _, 'that should make for an interesting rest of the day. And to think, I'd almost gotten a handle on those horrendously unprofessional dreams I'd been having.'_

By Thursday, Mabel had a theory and a plan to test it. Sure, she was a fanciful, silly girl, but...could Alfie Solomons, _the_ Alfie Solomons...want her? Just a little? If it wasn't true, no harm done, but if that look ( _please, please, don't let me have imagined it_) was anything to go by, her guess was that Alfie was in a particularly foul mood because she'd been out with some of the boys from the still the weekend before. Well, she had one more weekend before Hazel came to town, and she was going to enjoy herself. And if she just so happened to keep her eyes and ears open this time, and maybe have an especially good time while looking especially delectable, well, more's the pity for those who don't attend. She made sure it was known where she'd be and when, but also ensured that neither Abe nor Ollie was in attendance this time. If he wanted to know what she was up to, he'd have to work for it.

Friday night, she and her gaggle of friends staggered from one joint to the next, and she didn't notice anything out of the ordinary until she was almost ready to call it a night. Then she spotted Abe, crouched at the bar and scurrying to hunch over his drink in the shadows once he'd gotten it. ' _Oh Alfie,_ ' she thought ruefully. ' _I'm just a teeny bit disappointed,'_ as she smiled to herself.

Making sure Abe saw her, she asked one of the gentlemen if he could grab her a cab and then leaned in close to him while they waited. Then, she made it a point to leave alone. She checking the shadows for Abe as she climbed in the cab, but he'd moved and she couldn't spot him. Hmm. She worried her lower lip and debated. She could just go back in, dance a little more and make _sure_ Abe saw her leave...

"Hey, love. In or out, yeah?"

Right. She was a strong, independent woman, and she was being ridiculous. Homeward bound. Hazel's train would be in early tomorrow, and she wanted to be there to meet it.

* * *

Alfie was not a patient man. People knew this, hell, everyone knew this. So why the fuck Abe kept babbling at him was enough to make his brain short out and he'd have to shoot someone. Probably Abe.

Fuck. This mess with Mabel was too much. He couldn't help but admire her, professionally, of course. The changes she'd made were enough to convince him, but the floor plan she'd proposed was fairly brilliant and he could see at least the surface benefits immediately. It'd be even better if he could move the vats, but the cost to do so...

"Wait, say that again," he commanded Abe.

"I said, she left with some bloke in a cab."

"What fuckin bloke? This is what I'm paying you for. I need to know if she's working for someone, the BLOKE is the whole damn reason for this fuckin...Sod this. Abe, I'm just gonna shoot you, yeah? So hold still."

"Sir! Wait! Please, sir. What I mean to say is that I didn't know him."

"Yeah, Abe, I got that. S'matter of fact why you've got a gun pointed at your head."

"I mean, I would have done! If there was anything to know!"

Alfie cocked the gun. "Abe. You've got three seconds to make some kind of sense."

"He wasn't anyone! I swear it! I would have known him if he was, and he wasn't hangin' around anyone neither! He was just some boring chap!"

Alfie uncocked the gun. "Some boring chap."

"Yes, sir." Abe could sense the light and the end of the tunnel and he hurried to get the words out before it could collapse on him. "Tha's what she said. Mabel. I mean, Ms. Ziemann. To Rachel. She said he was just some boring chap but she was ready to go home because she had a train to catch the next day."

Alfie lowered the gun. "Mmhm."

Abe felt his knees weaken, just a bit, and said a prayer of thanks he hadn't just lost the pool.

Alfie tucked the gun back in the drawer. "Do you know where she was going? On this train?"

"No, sir. But!" he added hastily as he saw Alfie's hand reach for the drawer. "She couldn't have gone far because Ollie stopped by his mum's this morning and she was there. She and some ritzy gal, thick as thieves they was."

"Right." Alfie's hand dropped from the drawer. "Alright. Send Ollie in when he gets here."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Mmph." Alfie waved his hand in dismissal.

So. Ritzy gal. Boring chap. He had a few questions for Ollie, definitely.

* * *

Monday morning Mabel left Hazel sleeping off the drink from the night before. She reminded her when breakfast was and when she'd be back, which was met with a glare from under the duvet. Mabel smiled and left with a quick wave. If she was up and dressed before noon, Mabel would consider it a small miracle.

She came in to find a bustle of activity where she hadn't expected any and Alfie shouting orders over the din. She decided to lay low, he'd surely seek her out when he decided he needed her. In the meantime, she heard paperwork calling her name. She immersed herself a few hours, but when she straightened to stretch her back, she heard the uproar had died down and decided to investigate.

When she walked onto the floor, she noticed that quite a bit of equipment had been moved around. In fact...this looked suspiciously like her layout plan she'd planned on proposing to Alfie. She felt heat flood her face as anger boiled in her gut. How dare he! He hadn't even talked to her about this, and here he was playing it off like it was his idea? She tried to tamp down her fury when she realized she was grinding her teeth so hard she was afraid she'd break something. ' _Nope. No, no, no,_.' she told herself. ' _This is not happening. Not again. Fucking MEN! I don't care how good looking he is, or how many times I've dreamt of his hands. This is NOT happening. Now, stop thinking about his hands and go tell him off._ '

Mabel stomped to his office, righteous indignation stiffening her spine and hardening her features. She burst into his office without knocking and promptly froze. She blinked, sure she was having some kind of brain fever, because what she saw sitting on Alfie's desk, with his hands on her thighs beneath her skirt, was Hazel.

' _But_...' she thought nonsensically, ' _it's before noon_.'

"Hazel?" she asked, all anger flooding out of her and being replaced by confusion. It was definitely Hazel; she looked fantastic, her blonde hair was in this cute bob and she was wearing this cranberry colored dress that was to _die_ for, but how was she here? Why was she here? How did she know Alfie? And why were his dream-worthy hands all over her best friend?

"Oh, hey Mabe!" then she giggled. She _giggled_. "I just came down to see if I could take you to lunch, and they told me I should ask the big boss here." She fluttered her eyeslashes as she looked down at Alfie. He still hadn't moved his hands, but he did lean back in his chair and raise an eyebrow at Mabel.

Mabel blinked again. "I..." she started. She cleared her throat. "I don't normally grab lunch for a little while yet."

"Oh, s'no problem," Alfie drawled, finally dragging his hands away, albeit by the fingertips and all the way down to Hazel's knees first. "Why don't you girls take off for a while. Have a good time, yeah? Unless you needed something... _Mabe_."

Mabel felt her jaw clench again, as her eyes snapped away from his hands. Displeasure stiffened her stance, although if she were honest with herself, she didn't know if it was only one thing causing it anymore. "No, sir. Not at the moment."

"Ah." He stood and held out a hand to help Hazel to her feet. "Well, maybe another time." He held Mabel's gaze, pointedly, and she felt her cheeks flame without her consent. ' _Damn it all to hell. We WILL be having that talk, don't think you can get out of it with flirty looks and fucking my friend,_ ' she thought at him. But she thought it loudly.

Mabel held the door to Alfie's office open to let Hazel pass, and before she could escape, Alfie said, "Mabel." She turned back, reluctantly. "I'd like you to continue the new floorplan rollout. he paperwork will be on your desk when you get back."

Whatever she thought he was going to say, that wasn't really it. "Fine," she said, coolly. "Sir," she added.

He nodded. "Now..."

"Fuck off?" she guessed.

He huffed a short laugh. "Mmhm," and he gifted her one of his rare grins.

* * *

Author's Note: I don't know if William Foster and Co. was actually called The Mill, but it did produce agricultural machinery in Lincoln England in 1919. It is also credited with designing and producing the first tanks, used in WWI. The managing director of Fosters of Lincoln, Sir William Tritton, was knighted for his efforts.

In an uninteresting and completely unrelated note, I'm from Lincoln too, just a United States one, not an England one.


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as they got to the street, Hazel turned to Mabel. "So!" she chirped happily.

"Not here," Mabel snapped. She practically dragged Hazel by the elbow to a pub around the corner where they could sit.

"Jesus, Mabe, what the hell?" Hazel complained, rubbing her elbow. "I'm not one of your employees, you don't have to show me how tough you are. Wait. Oh, Christ, did I offend you with my indelicate behavior or something? Is that what this is?! When did you get to be such a prude?"

"It's not about that. Listen, you don't know what you're getting yourself into here. You can't just..." Mabel felt all the fight drain out of her and she slumped back against the seat. "Look. You don't want to get involved with him, he's _dangerous_. I'm trying to protect you."

"Oh my sweet Lord, you ARE offended by my indelicate behavior!" Hazel laughed loudly. "Oh, I never thought I'd see the day. Wait til I tell your mother, she'll be so excited."

"Shit, Hazel," but Mabel was smiling. "Fine, whatever, do what you want, you always do. I can tell it's true love. He obviously understands you on a very deep level."

"Oh shut it, you big lout."

"Just don't expect flowers and tickets to the theatre. He'll be too busy cleaning his gun and moving illegal merchandise."

"Yeah, ok Mabe. I'll let you know when we're ready to pick out curtains."

Mabel pushed aside her irrational jealousy and snorted. "Like you would ever need to do something as mundane as picking out your own curtains."

"I'll have you know, I'm fabulous with colors. All the women in Mother's flower arranging class said so."

"Oh, God, did she actually get you to go to that!? What did you do to get cornered into attending?"

And they were off. Eventually, they got food and Mabel lost track of time while catching up. Well, so what if she took a long lunch? What Alfie didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Because she was done telling him things.

* * *

The next day she scheduled a time to talk to Alfie and wore her annoyance like battle armor. Her mind raced all morning. He'd stolen her ideas. He hadn't consulted her about the execution and essentially went out of his way to implement them without her involvement. Also, Hazel still hadn't been home by the time she had to leave for work, and she was pretty sure she knew where she'd been all night. Ok, fine. Alfie was a bastard. That's not news, she shouldn't be surprised. But...it's just that...had she been misreading everything? She thought he'd been...interested. At the very least, she thought he'd respected her, respected her work. But she knew she was lying to herself about which of those misjudgments hurt the worst. Was she really that naive to see something that wasn't there? To think she'd had a chance with her _boss_?! Her terrifying _gangster_ boss?! Good God, she needed to straighten her head out. At least some of her annoyance was reserved for herself but she really did have reasons to be annoyed with Alfie. Good ones. She reviewed her mental agenda as she headed to his office. This was important. She wasn't getting off track.

"Yeah," Alfie bellowed when she knocked. She let herself in. "Ah, Ms. Ziemann. How are you?" He seemed very...cheery. Distaste colored her mouth and she thought she might deposit her lunch on his desk. Seriously? He might as well be whistling.

"What are you doing with Hazel?" she spit out before she could regulate her brain filter.

Shit. That's not how she meant to start this conversation. She waffled between apologizing immediately and glaring while demanding an explanation. Before she could decide, Alfie spoke up.

"Well, I would have thought that was obvious," he smirked.

Now she did glare.

"I thought I would have a better chance of getting a tank from a member of the Tritton family," he stated.

Mabel stiffened involuntarily. Now she definitely was going to be sick. Fury and disgust flooded her and her hands clenched so hard it was painful.

"Ah ha. That's the reaction I was looking for. So it _was_ you. I wondered about that. Hazel didn't seem to know, or didn't want to admit she knew. There were rumors, of course, but nothing concrete. Of course, if there had been, you would probably be the one with a knighthood. Relatively speaking."

She couldn't look him in the eye anymore. Without asking, she walked past his desk to the liquor cart he kept there and poured herself a healthy helping.

"It was your idea, wasn't it?" he asked, more gently than she thought possible. "The tank?"

When the silence had stretched longer than she could take, she forced her voice not to let her down. "More or less," she said steadily.

"So which was it? More? Or less?"

She turned to look at him. He had his arms crossed, one hand stroking his beard thoughtfully. She turned back to pour him his own glass.

"The military originally asked for an armored tractor, for moving Howitzers," she said quietly, handing him the drink. He accepted it and motioned for her to sit. "I knew tractors. It just didn't occur to me to use it for anything else."

He swirled the amber liquid in front of him, letting her talk.

"I tried to kick up a fuss, to prove it was my idea when it became clear they were going to run with it but no one would take my word for it because I was a woman. I showed them my notebook with my drawings and notes, but pretty soon it wound up missing. After a while, the production took up most of my day anyway, and it was a losing battle. So, I stayed until I could save up enough for a train ticket and room and board while I found a job in London. Then when I got here, I heard about you, asked around, and then ended up on your doorstep. You've been here for the rest." She felt immeasurably tired. She hadn't told anyone except her parents, not even Hazel knew. She may have guessed, but Hazel was too smart to stop the manna from heaven. Mabel couldn't blame her, not really. But it did feel nice to say it out loud and have someone believe her.

She met Alfie's eyes and he was looking at her like she was a sunny day after a month of rain. She swallowed thickly and busied herself finishing the rest of her drink. She wasn't expecting that and wasn't quite sure how to handle it.

When she glanced at him again, he was smiling at her. An honest, full out, smile. She felt herself smiling back, and she couldn't help teasing him, "I think that trial period may be over now, though, what do you think?"

"Mmhm," he grunted approvingly. His mouth quirked at the side and he continued to look at her, his gaze warm. "Well, in that case, you'd better stop by when you get done for the day and we'll figure out your pay, yeah?"

"Yeah, boss."

* * *

The rest of the day flew. Her head felt muddled with a constant whir of ' _Alfie, Alfie, Alfie_ ' playing in the background. He'd only wanted Hazel for information. He'd been checking up on her. He believed she was capable before he even knew, and had set about finding out the truth. The knowledge warmed her in a way she knew it probably shouldn't. She felt inexplicably excited about meeting with him again, just to be in his presence and revel in his approval. He'd looked...proud. Of her. She realized it was the first time anyone had looked at her that way. Her parents loved her, of course, but they'd desperately wanted her to stop making waves and take her place. With Alfie...he looked at her like he couldn't wait to see where she'd go next. It was thrilling.

' _Dangerous, Mabe,'_ she lectured herself. Then she tried to tamp down the feeling of excitement that particular word stirred in her. Because  dangerous, Mabe. She felt herself grinning all afternoon.

When Rachel and the rest of the girls tried to cajole her into coming dancing with them, she cheerily waved them off with explanations of "too much to do" and then putzed around until everyone else had left.

In the quiet, she found her courage and decided she could be a bit dangerous too.

She knocked on Alfie's door.

"Ms. Ziemann. There you are." He was standing in front of his desk but turned as she entered.

"Oh, are we back to that? What about all the bonding we did? I don't even rate a 'Ms. Z'?" she grinned as she settled into a chair. He grinned back, sat on the edge of the desk and crossed his ankles.

"Did everyone leave you here and go fucking around without you? Isn't this the night for whatever it is you do?"

"Well, other than the fact that my boss is making me stay late..."

"Am I now?"

"Yeah. Other than that, though, there's something I'd rather be doing anyway."

"Mmhm?"

Mabel let the silence stretch out, keeping her eyes on his and slowly bit her lip.

Alfie blinked. Then he swallowed thickly. "Fuck me," he said softly to himself, an air of awe in it.

Mabel rose from the chair and stepped into his space. She watched her fingers as she ran them up the buttons of his waistcoat and whispered, "Yeah, that's the idea."

Alfie surged forward, wrapped an arm around her waist and spun them, pressing her against the desk. Mabel grasped his shoulders for balance and stood still, in the vee of his legs and let every ounce of want show in her face. Then she reached up, threading her hand through his beard, and lifted her face. Alfie crushed his mouth to hers with a growl, and she wrapped her hand around the base of his skull and held on for dear life. His tongue traced her bottom lip and she shivered as she opened for him. He ran his palms up her back and gripped the back of her brown curls before pulling her head to the side to give him better access. She couldn't stop the soft moan as his tongue breached her mouth and explored. God, he was like a thunderstorm. Big and powerful, ominous and unavoidable and she felt lightening zing down her limbs and set her on fire. She twisted her hands in his collar and pulled him closer. It wasn't enough. She needed to feel him, needed to _see_ him. She fumbled with the buttons on his waistcoat but he batted her hands away and moved to mouthing along her jaw, stopping and sucking at the point behind her ear. Then she did moan, loud and breathy in the stillness and she felt his fingers tighten on her waist. He quickly yanked the shirt from her skirt, anxious to get to skin and growling in frustration when he reached her satin chemise instead. It was her one luxury, beautiful underthings and she quickly reached behind herself to get to the zip on her skirt so he wouldn't tear anything. As her skirt pooled to the floor, he stopped long enough to look at her, peach satin brushing her thighs and garter belt holding up her hose. Alfie grinned lasciviously and brushed his fingertips along the hem of her slip and the thighs beneath.

"This? Is beautiful." Alfie breathed, grinning in her ear.

"Am I now?" Mabel teased. She tried not to sound like she was panting as she slid one booted foot out of the circle of her skirt and hooked it behind his calf, pulling them even closer. She could feel him, hard and pressing against her thigh.

At that, Alfie groaned and lifted her by the hips to slam her bum onto his paper-strewn desk. With one hand, he swept it clear, sending papers, phone, and lamp clattering to the floor and spread her thighs with the other.

' _God that was hot,'_ Mabel thought.

"Am I now?" Alfie grinned at her, and she realized she must have said it out loud. She blushed prettily and he devoured her mouth once more. He worked on opening her shirtfront and when he pulled away from her mouth to focus on the tiny buttons she quipped, "How do you still have so much paperwork on your desk when I know you give it all to me?"

"Shut the fuck up," he commanded and ripped the rest of the shirt open, scattering the remaining buttons.

"Yes, sir".

Alfie's eyes flamed with desire. Mabel attacked his mouth, both hands fisted in his hair, and he rucked her slip up past her waist. His hands dipped under the smooth material to run over acres of glorious skin, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She broke the kiss to gasp in a sharp intake of air when he held their weight in his palms and brushed over her taught nipples. Alfie removed his hands to strip her of her shirt before lowering his head to suckle her satin covered breast. The thin material soaked up the wet heat of his mouth and when he moved to the other one, the cold brush of air over the wetness made her nipples harden even more.

With a groan, Mabel reached for the fastening on Alfie's trousers, determined to stop his slow teasing. She gasped when he dragged his teeth over her nipple, but didn't stop until she'd freed him from trousers and pants and held his not inconsiderable weight in her hand. Slowly, she stroked his hardness and was rewarded with panting of his own. Deliberately, she dragged her thumb around the head and pressed lightly into the slit.

"Fuck," Alfie panted, pulling his head back and screwing his eyes shut.

When he'd taken a deep breath and opened his eyes, she looked at him, licked her lip, and _squeezed_.

Then Alfie was a flurry of motion, an oncoming storm that had finally arrived. He grabbed her and flipped her, pressing her breasts into the desk and presenting her bottom to him like a gift. He yanked at her knickers and she helped him as best she could, both of them beyond caring about anything other than _more_ and _there_ and _now-now-now._ As soon as Mabel was free of them, Alfie slammed into her, burying his length in her heat and causing both of them to cry out.

"God, woman," Alfie grated out through clenched teeth. "You'll be the death of me."

"Alfie," she moaned, pressing back against him and sliding him even further in.

Then he began to move. He started slow, but then was relentless, pounding into her, wringing cries of pleasure out of her with each thrust. He gripped her hips fiercely and she loved it, knowing she'd see bruises from his passion for days to come. She gripped the edge of the desk, matching him thrust for thrust, and savoring the sounds he made as he slid home. All too soon, she felt the heat spiraling out of control and tried to hold on longer. Alfie seemed to sense this and reached around her to stroke her. He used her wetness to rub, pushing her closer and closer to the edge, until she was rocking against him, convulsing around him, and calling out his name. Hearing her voice seemed to undo him and his rhythm became irregular, he thrust three more times until he was pulling out fiercely and streaming ropes of cum across her back.

He leaned against her, supporting himself on his palms as their breathing slowed and they came back down to earth. Then he gently reached an arm under her, helping her to stand. He had her raise her arms and almost reverently removed her slip before using it to clean them up a bit. Then he wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her against him, her naked back against his warm, solid chest.

"Mmmhmm," he rumbled into her hair, his nose pressed into the hollow under her ear. She shuddered, still feeling the aftershocks, and closing her eyes tight, to hold on to it as long as she could.


	5. Chapter 5

She got ready slowly the next morning, barely listening to Hazel's chatter. She was up early, (well, early for Hazel anyway) because she was "so bored" from Mabel not being around the night before, and had gotten "ungodly amounts of sleep".

Mabel had thus far successfully avoided having to explain why she'd had to stay late the night before, and she felt almost guilty keeping this from her friend. They'd told each other everything for so long, but even as they grew up and apart, this still felt big. And they told each other the big things.

Except...it _was_ big, right? This was a big deal, for both her and Alfie. Wasn't it?

Alfie had been courteous, almost gentlemanly last night as he'd helped her back into her clothes, laughing about replacing her shirt and kissing her before saying he'll see her tomorrow and closing the office door behind her. She had tried to take her cues from him about how to play this. She had no illusions, she wasn't a child. But she did have to work with him every day, and an idea of what he wanted...

"Wait, what? Hazel, what did you just say?"

"I said that I was thinking about going with you to work to see Alfie again. You know, he's cute, in a scruffy, possibly homeless kind of way. Very Jewish, and you know how I appreciate cut men." Hazel winked and laughed at their longstanding joke. Mabel managed a weak smile. Hazel must have seen something on her face because she stopped and asked, "Mabe? What's wrong?"

"I just...I really don't think you should do this, Hazel. He's a criminal, and if you were smart you'd cut ties now while you still can."

"Cut ties?! Jesus, Mabel, we didn't even _kiss_. Not that I would be opposed to remedying that, mind you."

"You didn't?"

"No! What you saw is what I got. Then after I walked you back from lunch, I met that girl, Rachel? In the office? God, she's a hoot. Anyway, I talked her into leaving early since I knew Alfie would be gone, and we went to that club, the...shit, now I can't remember the name of it. Anyway, hot sexy Italian men as far as the eye can see, and all of them happy to buy a girl a drink. It was a blast! Hey, we should go again! I'll just come with you and see if Rachel-"

Mabel listened with a growing sense of dread. She interrupted Hazel with a string of expletives that proved she'd spent the last several years working with men in a factory. "You have no idea what you're doing Hazel! That club was probably owned by Sabini, who just so happens to hate Alfie's guts and wants him dead, and look at you! You just walked right in the middle of that! What if something had gone down, you could have been killed! Or worse, what if Alfie thinks you're a spy or something?"

"What?! How do you know all that?"

"Because people _talk_ , and because I _listen_ , fuckstick."

"Um, did you just call me 'fuckstick'? Because if so, that's incredible and I'm stealing it."

Mabel couldn't help but huff a laugh at her friend. She smiled, trying to soften, and took Hazel's hand. "Listen. Please. You don't have to go home, and you don't have to stop partying. Just stay away from the bakery, yeah? I'll talk to Alfie, let him know what a complete imbecile you are and how you can't possibly cause any problems on account of how you only have enough brains to drool into a handkerchief and clean up your own feces. Most of the time."

"Jeeze, thanks."

"You're welcome, dear. You know I'd do anything for you." Mabel patted her hand and turned back to her hair.

"So...what about you?"

"I'm capable of cleaning up my own feces all the time."

"Har har de har. I'm serious."

Mabel furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, ever since I got here it's, "Stay away from the bakery even though it's the most interesting place ever", and "Alfie's dangerous even though he walks like my grandfather." What about you? You're there every day, and you spend all kinds of time with him. Should I be worried about you?"

"I..." Mabel hesitated. Should she? God, maybe. What was she _doing_ here? Where could this possibly end, other than disaster? "Oh, you know me, lady. I always land on my feet."

"Sure. Until you don't."

Mabel didn't have a comeback for that.

* * *

Mabel headed in to the bakery, determined she would stay as professional as possible unless Alfie acted differently. Last night had been a flurry of flying buttons and papers, Alfie fully clothed and her...not so much. She let her mind wander, her groin aching in all the good ways. What would he be like on an actual bed? She imagined pressing him back onto it, straddling his hips and sinking down onto him, clutching his chest and riding him, unbidden-

"Oi! Ziemann! Boss wants to see ya! Double time, so's I don't get my arse kicked, yeah?"

Mabel had to clear her throat, but when she replied, her voice was steady. "Sure Travers, I'll protect you this time. But finish Vat 2, or I won't stand in his way next time, yeah?"

"You got it."

Mabel grabbed her notebook from her desk and forced herself to go over numbers in her head, production rates, down time costs, anything. By the time she reached Alfie's office she had her head on straight and was every inch the foreman he'd hired.

"Ah, Ms. Ziemann." He glanced up from where he was crouched over his desk, papers, phone and lamp all restored as if nothing had happened. "We need to go over the rest of your floor plan layout, as well as your pay rate. I'll have you roll out the rest of the move, you shouldn't hear any grumbling and if you do, I want to hear about it."

 _'So, that's how we're doing this.'_ Mabel thought, eyeing him as he continued, spectacles on nose and 100% business focused. ' _Well, good. I've got a job to do and it's not on my back. Or front.'_ She was dangerously close to blushing at that, but grit her teeth and focused on what he was saying. That is, until he reached for something and knocked a pile of papers over, scattering them across the floor. Alfie froze, staring at the mess and when he met her eyes, she knew her pupils were as blown as his.

Mabel leaned closer, her voice low in his ear, "Did you want to clear off the rest of it while you're at it?"

Alfie's blue eyes flashed and he gave her a look that sent heat pooling in her belly. Without warning, he launched himself out of his chair and backed her into the far wall, pressing her there. His hands were desperate, running over everything he could touch while their mouths met hungrily, all sliding tongues and flashing teeth. He groaned, and she hitched her leg over his hip and arched into him.

He tore his mouth free long enough to pant into her mouth, "Fuck, woman. What have you done to me."

"Shh." Mabel pressed two fingers against his lips, and used her other hand to move her skirts out of the way. Alfie sucked her fingers into his mouth, running his tongue over the pads and she closed her eyes, tongue and teeth worrying her bottom lip. He ran his hands up her thighs, over her bum until he was lifting her and she wrapped her legs around him. The movement brought his very evident need brushing against her and she gasped, gripping his shoulders and bucking her hips against his. He returned the movement, the delicious friction of cloth on cloth heightening her senses and she could hear her pulse pounding in her ears.

He moved one hand to cup her face, kissing her deeply while he set her down. He helped her shimmy out of her knickers and then fumbled at his trousers, not wanting to stop kissing long enough to do it properly. She managed to get his waistcoat unbuttoned and pull his thick shirt up enough to run her hands over the taught muscles on his stomach and up to clutch his back. Finally, he pushed his trousers and pants to the floor and hooked an arm under her knee, pulling it to her chest. She wrestled yards of fabric out of his way until he could rest his warm length against her opening. A small whimper escaped her in anticipation.

"Shh," he told her. And then slowly slid into her.

God, he was glorious. She arched into him, letting him set a furious pace, her short nails leaving tracks under his shirt. His height caused him to be at the perfect angle, brushing her clitoris each time he slid into her. She buried her face in his neck, licking and sucking and breathing in his scent. The way he could wind her up, faster than anyone, ever, drove her crazy. She _needed_ , she _wanted_ , she _demanded_...

Vaguely, as if from another room, she heard the telephone on his desk begin to jangle.

"If you stop now, I swear to God..." she panted.

"Shut...fuck...nngh!"

"Yes...ah!...yes, sir." she obliged, before losing all ability for thought. Her vision whited out, and she thrust against him wildly, chasing her orgasm. The ringing phone mingled with her soft cries until Alfie's mouth covered hers, drinking in the sounds of her pleasure. Then he was there too, her muscles quaking around him, and she held him as he rode it out, fingertips bruising, heavy breaths mingling with hers until she couldn't tell where hers stopped and his began.

He rested his damp brow on her shoulder as he came down, letting her leg slide down his but keeping her supported against the wall. She was grateful, because she was pretty sure she couldn't stand just yet. She tipped her head back against the wall and waited for her breathing to slow and for her thighs to quit shaking.

"Holy fuck," she breathed. "That was..."

"Yeah." Alfie grinned wide, his teeth on full display. Mabel soaked up the sight of his smile, wishing she could box it up for a rainy day.

He moved away, straightening clothing and she ran a hand over her damp curls, fairly certain there was no chance she could appear like she hadn't just been having sex against the wall. She went through the motions anyway, recovering her underthings and attempting to smooth the wrinkles in her skirt with her fingers. "We should try that sometime without our shoes on," she quipped lightly, trying to cover her self-consciousness.

Alfie stilled, glancing at her again. He stooped to gather the scattered papers, and when he straightened, his face showed determination.

"This isn't..." he began. "This isn't anything other than what it is, yeah?"

Mabel's smile faltered for a heartbeat, then it was back, with greater brilliance. "Yeah. Boss. 'Course."

Alfie held her gaze. "I don't do...that. I mean, I can't be seen as..." He tried again. "I just need you to..."

"Fuck off?" Mabel supplied.

Pain flashed briefly in his eyes, but he looked down at his desk and murmured, "Mmhm."

She knew the way to the door.


	6. Chapter 6

When she reached the bakery the next day, there was no sign of Alfie. No one had heard anything, but Ollie was there off and on, so she figured he'd be back soon. Ollie notified her she was in charge of the bakery until Alfie got back, which warmed her with pride, but drew a flat look from Ollie himself.

She immersed herself in the work. That's why she was here. She enjoyed being busy, she liked the people she worked with. Rachel was fun, Abe was great to talk to, and there was a never-ending deluge of paperwork in case she was looking for a good time.

The changes she'd made were well-received by the crew. Simple layout changes to the floor increased productivity, eliminated waste, and allowed crew members to interact with each other more, which led to better morale. She wasn't a gangster, but she was _good at this_.

She managed a peek at the books (since she was 'in charge' and all), made a few notes about ways to reinvest the potentially increased revenue, and vowed to have a real, grown-up conversation with Alfie when he got in, completely professional and not ending in sex.

Except he wasn't there the next day either. Or the next. Or the next. Eventually, Hazel had to go back home to Lincoln, and Mabel focused on getting as much done as possible before Alfie came back. At least during the day. If at night, alone in her bed, she decided that Alfie's hands were less dream-worthy and more fantasy-worthy, well, no one needed to know.

On the fifth day he was gone, she received a package in the mail. Mrs. F was practically giddy when she recognized the fancy dressmakers mark on the package and fluttered around Mabel's elbow while she gazed numbly at it. She refused to appear as anything more than neutral and she retired to her room to open it. It contained two things, a new slip, silk this time and a pale lavender, as well as a _beautiful_ new shirtwaist. She gaped at the extravagant article of clothing in front of her. She knew she'd never wear it, ever, and could scarcely touch the soft white material and tiny opalescent buttons, afraid she'd snag it with her work-roughened fingers. She allowed herself one small stroke of a fingertip against the impossibly smooth seams and one tear as she replaced the paper and lid and stored it all under the bed. The tear slid down her cheek, trembled on the edge of her upper lip, and she licked it away. The salty taste stayed much longer than she'd anticipated.

Ollie continued to drop in and out and made a point to seek her out as much as possible. She'd assumed he was keeping an eye on her and reporting to Alfie, but she found herself getting tense whenever she saw him. He was constantly in her space, touching her wrist or her waist, changing the subject to ask her what kind of music she liked, or did she ever go get gelato. Ugh. She was no stranger to men who assumed she was obtainable, she'd been a foreman in a factory for _years_ , for God's sake. But Ollie was not taking her very blatant hints. Even if she wasn't with Alfie ( _Was she? Was she_ _with_ _Alfie? Would she really call it that? Would_ _he_ _really call it that?),_ Ollie definitely wasn't her type. Sure, he was handsome enough, but he bumbled, he was constantly nervous and sweaty, and he was _boring_. Holy hell, was he boring.

So when Rachel asked if she'd like to go dancing that night, she only had one question. "Is Milquetoast coming too? Because he won't take a hint." Rachel laughed and said if she wasn't there at quitting time they were leaving her workaholic arse and she wouldn't feel bad about it because it was for her own good. She really needed to learn how to prioritize, she told Mabel with a grin.

Mabel flashed a tired smile. She was desperately looking forward to going out. She missed Hazel, and...dancing. Yes. Hazel. And dancing. It would be good to be around people, let loose and remind herself how to have fun. Her shoulders unhitched slightly from her ears, and she granted herself a shoulder roll and a small sigh.

At quitting time, Mabel gathered her purse and hat and hoped Rachel wasn't quite as strict as she threatened because she was running a few minutes behind. She was shutting off the lamp on her desk when she heard a low voice in the dark behind her, sliming its way up her spine and curling oily in her ear.

"So. Milquetoast, huh?"

Mabel's hands stilled as she took a deep breath and tried to remember the placement of possible weapons on her desk.

She sensed movement behind her and spun, using the motion to cover her hand groping behind her, searching for something, anything, that would take away the flutter of helplessness worming its way under her breastbone. Nothing. She kept her desk far too clean, she decided.

Ollie stood there, too close and too angry for comfort. Mabel's mind raced, searching for the right word or phrase that would defuse him and end what was fast becoming a nightmare. The static in her head, though, was only letting through completely useless thoughts like, ' _Why don't_ _I own a letter opener? Like a big scary one that resembles a knife or maybe a sword? What have I been using to open letters this whole time?"_

"Ollie, thank goodness, I was hoping to talk to you about some ideas I had. You know, before Alfie comes back."

"Shut up, you stupid cunt." Ollie's voice was low, his face shadowed in the dim light.

Mabel felt herself bristle and then tried to remind herself how ridiculous it was in this situation for that phrase to cause anger instead of fear. It was just that she'd been hearing it for years, and it never failed to raise her hackles. It had caused her a few fights in the past, especially once people realized they could use it to push her buttons. Ok, fine, cunt was technically accurate, but she was not _stupid_. Fucking MEN.

She glared at him. "What do you want, Ollie?"

"I want you to SHUT. UP!" He slammed his hand on the desk next to her and she jumped.

' _Ok, anger gone. Fear is effectively on the job,'_ her brain babbled interminably. _'_ _Think_ _girl. Get farther away, give yourself some space.'_

She shifted to the left and tried to think of something that would get him talking. Preferably without talking herself. She fluttered her hand up to her face and pressed it to her mouth. Letting huge tears well in her eyes, she looked pleadingly at Ollie.

"You think you're better than me. DON'T YOU?!" he erupted. "After years of loyalty, and scraping and running back and forth across the entire bloody city just because he says so, you walk in with different equipment between your legs and now you're the new favorite."

Mabel was taken aback. ' _Well, that's new.' "_ Did he really say that?" she questioned before she could stop herself.

Ollie's backhand caught her across the cheekbone. Stars burst across her vision and she staggered sideways.

"SHUT! UUUUUP!" Spittle flew from his lips and his face purpled in rage.

Mabel's head swam, but not enough to stop her from realizing that his blow had knocked her far enough that she was now between him and the door. When he rounded on her, fists clenched and looking for a target, she turned and fled.

She only had a vague idea of where she was headed, a thought half-formed in the back of her head. ' _Get somewhere safe. Find a weapon. Fight back.'_ She headed to Alfie's office.

Ollie was right on her heels, and she couldn't stop the scream that burbled out of her as every monster from every bad dream she'd ever had chased her down the hallway. When she barreled inside and tried to slam the door behind her, he slapped it back open and pushed his way in. Mabel backed up quickly, hands behind her back. Real tears fell unheeded down her face now. He advanced at a slower pace, knowing she was trapped, a lewd grin stretching his normally passive face.

"I'm going to fuck you. And then I'm going to fuck you up. And you can scream for one or both, but you will scream. Oooooh, yes. You will scream. We'll just have to see if you scream 'stop' or 'don't stop', but doesn't matter to me." He started unfastening his trousers slowly, enjoying the fear he saw on her face.

Mabel inched backward as he talked, her heartbeat loud in her ears, her breath wrenched out of her painfully. Finally, _finally_ , she felt the corner of the desk gouge her in the thigh. Scrambling silently, she reached for the drawer, using her skirts to hide her hand. Whimpering noisily to cover the sound, she eased it open, searching blindly for the gun she knew was there.

' _There it is!'_ Her adrenaline surged and she stopped Ollie mid-step by drawing the gun and pointing it in his face.

"Stop. Stop where you are, and don't touch me." Her voice wavered, and so did the gun, but she looked him in the eye and wrapped her finger around the trigger.

Ollie hesitated, unsure. Then that awful smile split his face again and he took another step her way. "You don't know how to use that, girlie. Do you. You haven't got a CLUE!"

With that, Ollie lunged for her and she squeezed her eyes shut as a gunshot rang through the air.


	7. Chapter 7

Mabel's hands shook so badly the gun dropped from her fingers. Ollie pitched sideways to the floor, and in the doorway stood Alfie, the gun in his hands still smoking. His face was terrifying.

Mabel's eyes sought his and she couldn't get enough air. "I couldn't...I couldn't! I couldn't do it, why couldn't I do it?"

Then he was there, gathering her in his arms as she fell apart. He held her, stroking her back and murmuring shushes and nonsense into her hair while she sobbed into his chest.

She cried until she ran out of air. Then she clutched him manically and breathed in the scent of soap and sweat and Alfie. She didn't know if it was minutes or hours, but he held her close and didn't let go.

Eventually, her breathing slowed and she pulled back, forcing herself to look at the floor. Ollie lay unblinking in a spattering of brain matter and an ever-widening pool of his own blood, his dick still jutting obscenely from his pants. Mabel shuddered and looked away.

Alfie watched her carefully, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

"He..." Mabel started, then licked her lips and tried again. "He could have killed me."

"It's alright. You're alright, love."

Oddly, the endearment made her feel like crying again, but she bit her lip and refused to let any more tears fall. She took a breath, wiped her cheeks and met Alfie's eyes.

The concern she saw there was overwhelming.

"There you are. I knew you were in there somewhere." He circled an arm around her shoulders and steered her away from the blood and towards the door. "Come on. Let's go."

"But...what about..." She couldn't bring herself to finish the thought, not yet.

"You let me take care of it, yeah? Come on, come with me."

She let herself be herded down the stairs and into the car at the curb. Alfie started the engine and pulled away, and she felt exhaustion leech all remaining will and thought and she slumped into the window, listlessly watching the streets roll by. Eventually, Alfie pulled up outside a mid-size home, all darkened windows and arched doorways, and climbed out of the car.  
She followed him, a furrow between her brows. She'd assumed he was taking her to the boarding house.

Oh, GOD, the boarding house! Ollie's mother! The realization struck her with an almost physical blow. Oh god, oh how would she ever been able to walk into that house again, never mind face her. She was the reason her son was dead. She was the reason a person was dead. Her stomach lurched threateningly and she stumbled. She paused until she was sure her lunch was staying where it was supposed to before continuing into the house. She vaguely heard Alfie talking, his hand on the small of her back guiding her, but she could only focus on remaining upright and placing one foot in front of the other.

She followed him hazily, laying down where he pointed and curling her face into a pillow. She looked up blearily when she felt him tugging at her feet and realized he was working the laces to remove her boots.

"Hey, you're taking off my shoes," she said, sounding surprised.

He smiled at her. "Next time we'll both take ours off, yeah?"

"Mmhm," she replied, her eyes already drifting closed and she felt herself tumble into sleep.

* * *

"Och! You! Get up, ye dighted lass! Come on!"

Mabel felt something sharp poking her in the ribs. She cracked her eyelids and immediately slammed them shut again. The sun shone through curtains which had been flung wide. The brash woman jammed the broomstick at the mound in the bed again and let loose a round of barely distinguishable English.

"Ah dinnae ken if yer oot yer face or aft yer heid, but ye get up right now! Come on!"

Mabel groaned. "All right, all right. I'm up, Mum!"

That stopped the tirade. She left the room muttering, slamming the door on her way out.

Mabel hauled herself to a sitting position slowly. She was lying on top of the duvet still fully clothed (minus her boots), but an afghan had been tucked carefully around her. She was in a fairly large bedroom, sparsely but tastefully decorated, the bed wide and deep. She thought longingly of stretching back out and going back to sleep. But she rubbed the ribs that would definitely be sporting broomstick handle shaped bruises later and sighed.

She spent a minute at the wash basin, scrubbing dried tears and sweat from her face and neck as best she could. Her wrinkled clothes could not be helped, but she tidied her hair and generally tried not to look half as miserable as she felt.

She set off to find Alfie. The house wasn't small, but it wasn't huge either, and eventually she'd searched every room but the kitchen with no sign of him. It was obviously his house, judging by the bedroom, and it was just as obvious that he was the only one living here, judging by how the other bedroom had been set up as an office. Mabel sighed again and went to face the battle-axe in the kitchen.

"Out ye gang, lassie. Go on!" was the first thing she hooted at her, flapping a dish cloth and glowering like Mabel was a naughty puppy who'd just wet the rug.

"Right, I will, I just...Have you seen Mr. Solomons? Do you know where he is?"

The woman crossed her arms and stared Mabel down.

"Right. I'll just...sorry, where am I? Please?"

Now it was the older woman's turn to sigh. She whipped the dishcloth onto her shoulder, whooshed past Mabel without a word and moved to the phone in the sitting room. Mabel watched her call for a cab and then marched back to the kitchen without a backwards glance. She heard noises that sounded suspiciously like an actual battle-axe being used to chop vegetables. Or a regular axe, but swung more forcefully.

She waited quietly in one of the chairs, fidgeting until she heard the trill of the cab horn.

"Um...thank you!" she called towards the kitchen. She heard a faint, "Humph!" and let herself out.

She gave the cabbie the address for the bakery because she didn't know where else to go. It was embarrassingly close to lunchtime to be starting work for the day, but since Broomhilda hadn't woken her any earlier, she supposed Alfie knew she'd be late.

When she got in she was greeted by Abe, who asked her what she was doing there.

"I'm...working?" she replied.

"'Course, right, s'just Mr. Solomons said you'd be out today."

"Oh. Right. Well, is he in? I'd like to have a word anyway."

"Sure, he's in the back. Ollie'll...I mean, I'll walk you down."

Mabel tried not to stiffen too much. "Ollie?" she asked, only mildly breathless, trying to cover it by taking the stairs quickly.

"Oh, he's actually...uh...going to be moving. Wanted to be closer to his mum, you know how it is when they're gettin' older. So he's gettin' another job. Won't be around much anymore."

She stilled. "Closer to his mum."

At that, Abe stopped. He peeked to make sure he wasn't overheard and lowered his voice. "Listen, Mabel, sometimes 'round here it's better not to ask too many questions. S'just I don't want you to get involved in anything...not really havin' to do with the bakery," he finished lamely.

"Oh." Mabel let that wash over her. "Right."

Abe wove her through the labyrinth of barrels until they spotted Alfie. He was pointing at a barrel, haggling with Travers over something until he spotted her. He broke off mid-sentence and called, "What the fuck're you doin' here? Here, you two, fuck off." The other two men scurried away and he shuffled towards her.

He cleared his throat. "You're alright, yeah?"

"Well, aside from your warm and welcoming housekeeper waking me up with a broom, yeah. I'm ok."

Alfie tried not to laugh, and he almost succeeded. "Rowena? Och, she's harmless," he said with a thick Scottish brogue.

"Yeah, tell that to my ribs. I think she dented me."

His smile softened. "As long as that's the worst of your injuries, I'll take it, yeah?"

The silence stretched between them as she let that sink in, hoping...

Alfie reached up to cup her jaw, stroking his thumb over her cheek. Then, slowly, broadcasting his every move, he leaned in and brushed his lips over her cheekbone. The slight flare of pain reminded her that Ollie had backhanded her, viciously. She'd forgotten. In light of everything else, she'd forgotten that he'd laid a hand on her first. She'd been panicking inwardly that if she'd only said something else, or screamed sooner, or run faster, that she could have controlled this. That it wouldn't have gotten out of hand, that Ollie would still be here, and she'd be able to look his mother in the eye, that she'd be able to look _herself_ in the eye.

She had no idea what he was seeing as he pulled away to search her face, but on his she saw a swarm of emotions flash by so fast it made her dizzy. She wanted _so_ badly for this to go away, for it to have never happened.

She allowed herself three more seconds of self-pity, and then made a decision.

' _This isn't going away, ever.'_ she told herself. It happened, she couldn't undo it. She wasn't even sure she wanted to. _'You're going to have to learn how to deal with this.'_

She looked at Alfie, really looked. He was watching her, waiting. There was concern in his gaze, but even so, beneath that he was calm and sure of himself. He knew who he was, he made no pretenses otherwise and no apologies for how he lived his life. He handled crises with nothing but a raised eyebrow, crises that would make other men weep and he didn't lose sleep at night.

Who the fuck wouldn't want that?

Mabel moved into Alfie's arms and hugged him, hard, and then backed away. "Thank you," she said, holding his gaze so he'd know she meant it. And she did mean it, with every fiber of her being.

He gazed at her steadily. Then he scratched his beard and said, "Well, I think you're over-personalizing this, mate. I mean, he's fuckin' useless in negotiations and I'd been looking for the right day to let him go, so, you know, this was really as good a time as any." Then he gifted her one of his rare Alfie grins.

Mabel couldn't help it. She felt the corner of her mouth twitch and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Listen," he continued. "I did some digging, 'kay. And I found a decent hotel, says you can pay by the week, yeah? And I may or may not have gotten you a really good deal on the rate. So. I can have one of the boys grab your things and you can stay until you find something better, right?"

"Really? You did all that...already?"

"'Course I did. I'm a fuckin' miracle worker. And you're not gonna go back there. 'S fuckin' ridiculous."

Mabel studied her feet. "Thank you," she said quietly. It was the second time she'd said it to him, ever, and she tried to remember if she'd ever been more grateful for any two things in her life.

"Mmhm. Now, here's the address..." he said, grabbing a pencil stub and a scrap of paper from his pocket and scratching on it. "And I don't wanna see you here for the rest of the day. Yeah? You get out of here, go on."

"Yeah, boss." Then, not letting herself over-think it, she leaned in and kissed him, brief but heated. Before he could respond, she spun on her heel and headed out.


	8. Chapter 8

Alfie was staring at the new rug in his office like he wasn't seeing it, oddly still without his usual bluster. She hesitated before knocking on the open door's frame.

He didn't glance up at the knock, kept his feet propped on the desk and turned back to the papers in his hand. "Yeah."

Mabel lowered herself into the chair opposite him. "What did you want to do about that Harrington shipment? It's backing up all our other orders."

"Oh, fuck me. Tha's not really why you came in here, is it? You do this stuff in your sleep."

She paused, trying to figure out how best to approach him, and started with, "I noticed the pay raise. We never did discuss it, but I wanted you to know I appreciate it. It's very appropriate."

"Appropriate?! I was gonna say, 'generous'," he looked at her over his glasses.

"I was going to say, 'earned'."

"Mmhm." he grunted, arching an eyebrow at her.

She changed the subject. "I wasn't here on your first day back, I just wanted to check...hopefully you got what you needed? Nothing really to report while you were gone, but I hadn't prepared anything."

"Yeah, it's all sorted." Alfie tossed his glasses on the desk and watched her, warily. He was doing that thing again, like he could see inside her head even when she felt like she didn't know what was going on in there.

She paused, knowing how stupid it was and then saying it anyway. "So...are you gonna tell me where you were?"

Ah. There it was. Alfie put his boots on the ground, his eyes hard and unflinching. "No."

She nodded, expecting that. "Why?" There was no malice in her tone, simply curiosity.

His voice was light, but his eyes never left hers. His carefully constructed mask of 'jovial madman' was firmly in place, but his jaw clenched. "Cuz you don't need to know. Cuz someone comes round here, right, and asks where I was...you says you don't know cuz no one tells you cuz you don't need to know. Yeah?"

She considered this, then said simply, "Ok."

Alfie faltered. "Ok? Just ok?"

"Just ok."

"Right." He waited. She swallowed before kicking open a door that couldn't really be shut again.

She picked at a non-existent thread on her skirt. "So, are you going to buy a new car?"

"Am I..." Alfie looked stunned. "I dunno, am I?"

"I think you should."

Alfie's eyes glittered dangerously. "You think I should." He sat back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach. "And why's that now?"

She met his gaze calmly. "Because after you gave me a ride, I noticed you weren't able to get all the blood off the seat."

"Mmhm." Alfie's hand drifted to toy with his desk drawer, almost absentmindedly, his gaze heavy on hers.

Mabel's heart rate spiked slightly. She wondered if she'd finally pushed him too far because she had no idea what he was thinking. ' _Well, I'm sick of guessing. Let's find out where we stand.'_

"Listen, little girl," he said, and she tried not to bristle, as that was his obvious intent.

Alfie stroked his beard with the hand not on his desk drawer and became dangerously aloof. "My business? Is my fuckin' business. You don't get to be in it just because you want to be. When I said, 'You don't need to know'? I meant, 'You don't get to know.' Now, fuck off."

Mabel stayed put. "No."

Alfie bristled and made as if to stand.

"I meant, I _don't_ want to know," Mabel said quickly. "I don't want to know more than you want me to, I just wanted you to know how much I know."

Alfie stayed in his chair, tense and unmoving.

"I don't like games, not about this, not with you. You play all you want with other people, I don't care. But I'm not here for anything but...the bakery," she finished, hesitatingly.

Alfie could have been cut from marble, except she could practically hear the gears whirring in his head as he picked up and discarded a hundred options and angles.

' _This. This is what I don't want. I don't want him to do this with me.'_

"I won't lie to you. Not little lies or half lies. I want to be able to say 'I don't know' when I'm not supposed to know, and if I find out anyway, it just...seems like you might need to know that too." she ended quietly. She was starting to doubt the intelligence of her actions. Alfie had been able to get a new rug in less than 24 hours. She was sure it wouldn't take much to get another one.

He removed his hand from the drawer and steepled them in front of his face. He scratched his beard. He furrowed his brow. Then he reached for the drawer again. Mabel stiffened, eyes glued to his hand.

She watched it emerge with a whiskey bottle and then two glasses which he placed on the desk, wordlessly. He poured a measure for each of them, placing the bottle back in the drawer, and took up his glass, waiting for her to take hers. She did, slowly. They drank in silence, taking their time, their eyes meeting occasionally over the desk.

They stayed that way, sipping their whiskeys until Mabel gathered her skirts and stood, replacing the glass on the desk. Alfie drank his last swallow, rolling it in his mouth.

"I'll see you tomorrow, boss."

"Mmhm."

* * *

But Mabel didn't see Alfie the next day, although she did hear him yelling at one point. The pool was still going strong, and she debated trying to get Alfie to go in on it with her. She would split it with him 70/30 since it was her idea. She grinned, imagining how that proposal would go down. She'd be lucky to leave without owing him money when all was said and done.

The day after that, though, she had a meeting across town with one of their glass merchants, who seemed to be having problems delivering the materials in one piece. Previous telephone conversations hadn't produced results, and Mabel thought there wasn't anything to be lost by meeting in person and explaining how things ran in Alfie's town.

When she got there, the blowhard made her wait for 25 minutes before having his secretary show her in, even though she knew for a fact that the bakery was their largest customer. So Mabel's stores of patience were fairly depleted from the get-go, which is why she felt she really wasn't to blame for everything that happened.

Mr. E. Mesnard was a heavy-set man, with a sweaty roll of skin resting above his pinched collar, and his very fine waistcoat stretching over his obscenely large belly. She glared at the watch chain flashing at his waist that would probably pay all her bills for a month.

"Well, well, Missy! What can I do for you?" He grinned down at her condescendingly, like he was humoring his granddaughter.

"You can stop fucking up our orders and start doing the job we pay you to do, quite handsomely too, if I remember correctly Mr. Mesnard."

"Oh, my! Such _language_! Well, I never! Surely you don't talk that way all the time. Why, it's unseemly for a lady to speak in such a way!"

"The way I speak, sir, is not the issue here. I expect the last two shipments to be replaced, in full and at no cost, and if it is done by the end of the week, we will consider continuing our business relationship with Canning Town Glass Works, Ltd. If not, the shipments should still be sent anyway, that we can use said bottles to drink to your continuing good health. If we don't have the bottles, we won't be able to. Toast your continuing good health, that is. Which would be a shame. So really, it would be in your best interest to get that taken care of, and quickly."

"Well! My, my, my. That was an awful lot of words, little lady. Here, I tell you what! Why don't you just have your boss come down here, and we'll just talk it over, man to man. We'll make sure everything gets worked out, don't you worry about a thing."

"My...boss," she said flatly.

"Hm? Oh, yes, you know, your supervisor. You just let him know and we'll get together. Let him know I can meet him for drinks, there's a good lass."

God, what she wouldn't give to see Alfie get a hold of him. Actually...

"Actually, Mr. Mesnard, my boss is available right now. If I can borrow your phone, I'll just speak to him immediately and see if we can set that up."

"Hm? Oh, sure, sure, sure. Here you go...you just lift this piece here, and speak into this part."

' _Holy shitting fuck, SERIOUSLY?!'_

"Gosh, it sure is fancy! I've never used one of these here gadgets before." Mabel glared as she grabbed the handset, asked the operator for Alfie's number, and waited for him to answer.

 _"Yeah?"_ she heard on the other end.

"Oh, Mr. Solomons, I'm so glad you're there!" Mabel gushed, letting an emotional tremor sneak into her tone. Mesnard blanched at the mention of Alfie's name.

 _"Mabel? 'Sat you? The fuck's wrong with you?"_ Alfie asked.

 _"_ Oh, nothing, sir, nothing's wrong. Except, well...you remember how I went to Canning Town like you asked me?" Mabel's voice oozed innocence and she widened her eyes, glancing at Mesnard.

 _"When the fuck did I ask you to do that? What are you on about?"_

"Well, I'm here, and it's just that...well, Mr. Mesnard's not being very nice to me." Mabel made sure to sound extra hurt.

Mesnard started shaking his head quickly, trying to catch her eye.

Silence filled the air on the other end. Mabel carried on her half of the conversation anyway.

"Oh, no, Mr. Solomons, nothing like that. No, no, honestly that won't be necessary, I wouldn't want anything to happen to...Hmm? No, I definitely wouldn't want him to _personally_ get hurt." Mesnard was definitely looking pale now.

 _"Oh, we're doing that game, eh?"_ Alfie laughed. He actually laughed, a genuine sound of surprise and delight barking from his throat. Mabel warmed from her head to her toes, and she clamped down on the urge to smile into the handset.

"Well, of course not, silly. He's not being _that_ mean." Mabel started to wrap the cord around her finger.

 _"Well, since I'm just sitting here anyway...did I ever tell you about the time I hired this brunette wench to be my foreman?"_ Alfie teased. _"Gooooood looking gal, had these legs that could wrap around you...mmhm. Like warm taffy."_

Mabel's mouth dropped and she must have made some small sound because Mesnard started whispering frantically, pleading. Mabel shushed Mesnard silently, gesturing to the phone to show he was still talking. Out loud she said, "Oh, no, I wouldn't want anything like _that_ to happen to him, sir."

 _"There was this one time, God, I remember it like it was yesterday, when she came in here, and I set her up on my desk, right?"_

"Uh huh...go on."

She could hear Alfie's grin through the phone. _"She was wearing this little peach number...it was fuckin' magnificent. So, she comes in here and I spread her out on my desk, yeah?"_

"Mr. Solomons, I'm sure you can think of a better way to take care of things than that. It sounds dangerous, we don't want anyone to get hurt."

 _"Oh, believe me, it was the_ _best_ _way to take care of things. Because there she was, her gorgeous thighs were open, and she wanted it so bad. You should have heard her, she was begging for it."_

"N…no, he's right here, sir." Mabel faltered. She swallowed thickly. In front of her, Mesnard was sweating profusely, his eyes starting to look panicky.

 _"Begging for it. So I take it out. And she can't believe her eyes, right? I mean, it is a thing of beauty, it really is. You'd say so too, I know you would."_

"I would say...girthy." Mabel eyed Mesnard and he backed up, shocked and insulted but afraid to show it.

And Alfie's laugh rang out loud and full. Mesnard couldn't take it any longer. "Why is he laughing? What's he saying? Tell him I didn't mean anything by it. I DIDN'T MEAN ANYTHING BY IT MR. SOLOMONS!" he hollered towards the mouthpiece.

"No, it's ok Mr. Solomons, I'll let him know. You don't need to come down, honest."

 _"Get your arse back here when you're done, wench. We'll go another round, yeah?"_

"Yeah, boss." Mabel hung up, her cheeks flaming and her tongue sore from biting it.

Mesnard looked like his heart was about to give out. He was standing behind his desk, his sweaty hair hanging limply on his forehead and his pleading gaze focused on Mabel's face.

"Mr. Mesnard...I spoke to Mr. Solomons. He said...well, he said a lot of things, but the bottom line is that he's agreed to let you replace twice the amount of the last two shipments, and he will use his generosity to make sure that things go smoother in the future."

"Oh! Oh, thank you Miss!" he sagged visibly, his eyes closing briefly. "Yes, yes, that's just fine, please be sure to thank Mr. Solomons for me. From all of us, actually. All of us here at Canning Town. Not just a one-man venture you know. Very vital to the local economy. Lots of families depending on us and all that."

"Yes, fine." Mabel clipped her words, already collecting her purse and hat. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Mesnard. I look forward to working with you in the future. I can show myself out."


	9. Chapter 9

Alfie looked up as he heard her knock. Instead of her normal work get-up, she was wearing the mint-green dress she wore when he'd first met her. He felt a surge of annoyance at Mesnard, for getting to see her this way and for not appreciating it. The man was obviously an idiot, and Alfie decided then and there to destroy him.

Alfie pushed his chair back from his desk, but that's as far as he got before Mabel strode briskly over and plopped herself on his desk in front of him. Then she crossed her legs prettily, one mint green shoe nudging his knee. She was grinning happily as she removed her hat and hat pin and set them on the desk next to her.

"You'll never guess what happened at work today," she teased.

Alfie returned her grin. "Good day, eh?"

"The best. I told Mesnard in order to make it up to you, you want him to replace those last two shipments twice over, and he almost fell down trying to thank me enough."

Alfie had his own ideas about what it would take to make it up to him, but he let it go for now. She was so proud of herself, he wasn't going to tarnish it.

"What will I ever do with all the extra money you made me today?"

"Well, I haven't had a raise in almost a whole month," she said flippantly. Then she placed her feet on his chair, one on either side of him. "So," she grinned, "warm taffy, huh?"

"Mmhm," he said appreciatively, sweeping his broad hands over her ankles, calves and knees and pushing her dress up with them. He traced small circles with his thumbs, enjoying the softness of her hose before pushing the hem of her skirt even higher. His fingertips explored, up and up, reaching the edge of garters and then sliding over smooth skin. When her inching dress revealed the edge of her chemise, Alfie made a small, tsk-ing noise as he fingered the soft, white cotton and delicate lace.

"Where is the one I bought?" he asked, skating his fingers over her inner thighs and ghosting ever closer to the heat radiating from between her legs. He'd been thinking about her wearing it, the image had kept him up at night. Now he wanted to know how it compared to the real thing.

Mabel's voice was breathy as she pulled him forward and worked the buttons on his shirt.

"I'm saving it for a special occasion."

Their breaths mingled, and his eyes watched her mouth. "What occasion?" he rumbled, his voice impossibly low. He watched her shiver in reaction, and she said, "I thought I'd wear it for our first time with no shoes." Cheeky girl.

He kissed her, hard, and pulled her into his lap. She made a soft "Mmph!" sound against his mouth as she landed and Alfie wanted to touch everything, memorize the way she felt straddling him. He ran his hands down her legs to where he could thumb her shoes off her heels, sending them clattering to the floor. Mabel's lips paused on his for a heartbeat, and then she kissed him, hot and frantic, licking into his mouth. He growled when she bit his bottom lip, grasping her bum and kneading her. He kissed along her jaw, trapping her earlobe in his teeth and sucking until she moaned.

Her hands scrabbled to push his braces and shirt off his shoulders and as soon as he was free, his hands delved under her dress to remove her knickers. He closed his mouth on the pulse point beneath her ear, knowing she loved it and knowing the suction would mark her. He knew that he'd see it later and remember the breathy high-pitched noises she was making in his ear right now.

Mabel ran her hands possessively over his warm skin, the hair curling softly under her fingertips. His stomach muscles clenched as she followed it down and he huffed out a quick breath. Mabel stilled.

"Are you...are you ticklish?!" she squeaked with delight.

"Oi! Shut the fuck up!"

Mabel giggled and kissed him and he let her feel his answering smile against her lips before he traced them with his tongue and delved into her mouth. She tasted like tea, and honey, and sunshine, and want.

Mabel arched into him, rocking their hips together and pressing his length between them. She set a rhythm, moaning with the friction and ratcheting them up from simmer to boil.

"I need you," Mabel gasped against him.

"Yes," he growled and wrapped his arms around her and stood up to sit her gently on the desk. He roughly shoved his clothes down and she tilted her hips up to wrap her warm taffy legs around his waist. "God, yes."

Alfie used one hand to cup her breast through the fabric of her dress and the other to slip between her legs to test her readiness. He found her wet and wanting and spread her to accept him. He entered her in one smooth strong stroke, driving a cry from her lungs that he captured in a kiss. His hips started to move and he drank in her moans, her need feeding his.

"Gngh, that's good," he groaned.

When Alfie tried to slow down, make it last, Mabel cinched her legs tighter and refused to let him. He wanted to draw out the furious pace she'd come to expect, but she was close, he could tell, and he whispered in her ear, his voice dark and rumbling, "Come for me, love."

Mabel cried out as she spasmed around him, throwing her head back and seeing stars. Alfie pistoned into her, his thrusts becoming frantic and erratic until he was groaning, lost, his face buried in her neck. Afterward, he panted, he breaths slowing in time with hers and then he kissed his way up her neck, tasting her, sweat, and sin, and sweetness. God, she was perfect. He kissed her mouth, eyes shut tight, and when she pulled away and whispered, "Alfie?" he kept them closed and just shook his head.

* * *

Alfie twirled his walking stick calmly in his hands, relaxed and nonchalant in the chair across from Mesnard. Abe sat next to him, a little nervous, but Alfie figured that was to be expected on his first run. And actually, he still seemed to be less sweaty than Ollie ever was. And definitely less sweaty than Mesnard.

"Right, so how can I help you, Mr. Solomons? You got your delivery, right? I talked to your girl last week about it," he gushed, already eager to get the conversation over.

"Yeah, Ms. Ziemann told me about your willingness to make it right. Didn't she, Abe?" Alfie had brought Abe along in case he needed another gun, but Mesnard didn't seem like much of a threat. Abe wisely kept quiet, his mouth a thin frown.

Mesnard was getting fidgety. "Right. Ms. Ziemann, that's right. She's a good one, that one. A real peach!" he laughed, shakily.

Alfie had a mental flash of Mabel in her peach slip and he momentarily saw red. He could feel his pulse pounding in his temples, but he said jovially, "Mmhm. Yes, she is. In fact, she's such a fuckin peach that I'm going to make sure you fully appreciate it. Because I'm not such a peach myself." Mesnard paled and licked his lips nervously, despite Alfie's light tone. "Do you like peaches, Mr. Mesnard?"

Mesnard jumped at the chance to say the right thing. "Oh, yes, definitely," he said, nodding ferociously.

"You do, do you?" questioned Alfie, his voice going hard and he stopped twirling the stick.

"I mean, no!" Mesnard rushed. "I mean, I do, but not _your_ peaches."

"Who said anything about my peaches? Huh? Who said any fuckin' such thing? I'm talking about peaches as a metaphor for all the good things in life. Do you know what a metaphor is, Mr. Mesnard?"

"Yes, actu..."

"Shut the fuck up." Alfie's voice was dark and deadly. "Now, I am a man who can appreciate a good peach from afar. I don't have to sink my teeth into it and rip it apart first. But. I will tell you that I am capable, very fuckin' capable, of sinking my teeth in and ripping things apart."

Then Alfie's demeanor changed abruptly, back to his amiable and reasonable self. "Which is why..." he reached into his inner jacket pocket, "I contacted my lawyer and had him draw up this paperwork." Alfie spread the paper on Mesnard's desk, helpfully pointing to the page. "See here? It says that you'll be signing over all _your_ peaches...to me. See? So here's your favorite pen, you can just sign right here."

"But..." Mesnard sputtered. "Why?"

"As punishment, Mr. Mesnard. For not fully appreciating peaches." Alfie's tone dropped into dangerous again. "So I'm going to take your peaches...and sink my teeth in. And then rip them the fuck apart." Abe brought the gun at his side up, leveling it at Mesnard's face.

Mesnard was shocked into standing abruptly. His breath was coming in gasps and his wide eyes blinked at Alfie. "But...but you can't do that!"

Alfie came unhinged. "And WHY. THE FUCK. NOT!"

Mesnard was clearly panicking now, shoving his hands through his hair, his eyes flitting back and forth. "What about all the workers? What about all of their families, you can't just turn them out into the cold! The people in this area depend on this work, they'll starve to death without it! If you shut down the glass factory..."

"Shut it down? I'm not going to shut it down." He waved Abe's hand down. "Stop, stop, Abe. He obviously doesn't understand. We're going to have to educate him first." Then to Mesnard, he said, "I'm taking over your shite management and making sure your sons get a chance to make their own fortunes instead of living off of this one. I'm doin' you a favor, mate, you should really be thanking me."

But Mesnard hadn't calmed down enough to hear anything he'd said. He kept his eyes trained on Abe's gun. "But the union! They'll never stand for this, they could strike and the fallout would be...it'd be a bloody war!"

Alfie was unmoved. He studied the head of his walking stick, thoughtfully. "Have you ever been to war, mate? Hmm? Because I went. And I'm going to guess that dragging yourself through trenches filled with mud and blood and shite isn't the same as a fuckin' strike. So here's what we're gonna do, yeah? You are going TO SIT THE FUCK DOWN!" Mesnard's jaw dropped, then he flopped into his chair, eyes wide. "Then you are going to sign this fuckin' paper. And then you're going to-"

"But, this isn't...you can't just..." Mesnard's hands fluttered helplessly for a moment, and then they clenched. He fixed Alfie with a glare, which was all kinds of stupid. "I want-"

"Let's pretend I give a fuck what you want." Alfie overrode him, surprisingly calm, even to his own ears. "As soon as this bullet hits your brain," he nodded towards Abe's gun, leveled once again at Mesnard's face, "then you stop wanting it. At least, I think so. I'm not a scientific man. Should we try it and find out, mate? I promise to ask you, afterward."

Mesnard dragged in a shaky breath and clenched his eyes shut. Then he exhaled forcefully and dragged the paper towards him. He signed, shaking his head. "I can't believe this is happening."

Alfie swiped the paper out of his grasp as soon as the pen finished moving. "Ah but mate, you're being punished, remember? You're fuckin' awful at this, you don't get to be in charge of anything, ever. Bad boy."

Mesnard just stared at him numbly. "Then who's going to run this company-"

"I'll take care of it. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it."


	10. Chapter 10

Mabel's slim frame shook with fury. "Dissolved the management."

Alfie masked his confusion with annoyance. "Yeah, you know, dissolved it. Broke something apart, usually accomplished with water. Except this time, it was with fuckin' rum."

"So, you're going to...what? Become a bottle factory owner now? Is that a big thing for up and coming..." Mabel broke off, crossing her arms and turning away.

Alfie was moving into dangerous mode very quickly. Mabel was overstepping. She didn't tell him how he ran his business, or how he decided to make money. She didn't get to be angry over his decisions just because they were fucking. That was the ONLY thing they were doing and nothing else. Nothing else at all. Besides, he hadn't done this for her. He'd done it for him. He didn't care if it made her happy; this was a good move for the bakery. It would allow him to cut costs on bottling, get him access to additional distribution possibilities, bring in additional...why was he even thinking about this? He didn't have to defend himself to her! He did what he wanted, and fuck everyone else. Right.

"Oi! You've got one job, and it's for this bakery. You don't worry about fuck all else because this is what you get paid for," he said, waving a hand vaguely towards the production floor. " _I_ run the rest of it, and I do it my way."

"Alfie. I _told_ him. I said it was fine, and he didn't have anything to worry about as long as he replaced the shipments."

"Yeah, well now he knows better and so does everyone else."

"Exactly! Now everyone knows that it doesn't matter what Mabel says because she's just another dumb girl!"

"You did that yourself, mate. Or did I imagine your half of the telephone conversation? 'Oh, _gosh_ Alfie, I don't want you to hurt him!' If there's no one behind that threat, it's not much of a fuckin threat now, is it?"

"Damn you, Alfie Solomons. I _didn't_ want you to hurt him! How can you not understand this? I had taken care of it! We got the shipments we needed, we got more than we needed, and we maintained a relationship with a business contact." Mabel's voice remained steady, but color bloomed high on her cheeks and her hands shook slightly.

"And now instead of a business contact, we have a fuckin business. And I'm going to need someone to run it." Alfie looked at her, waiting.

Mabel stared at him, agape. "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?!"

Alfie didn't know what was going on here. He'd expected...well, he rather thought she'd have been excited about this. It was good for her, it was good for the bakery. Fine, fuck this. This is what he gets for...

"If you don't want this job, well, far be it from me, your FUCKING BOSS...to tell you otherwise." Alfie wanted to punch something.

"I have a job, thanks," Mabel sneered. "I'm going to go do it. That is, if you think I can handle it by myself," and she thundered out without waiting for his reply.

* * *

As the office door slammed behind her, Mabel heard Alfie punch something. She couldn't care less, she wanted to punch something herself. She stalked past barrels, fuming as she made perfunctory checks. God, he was _such_ an arse! How dare he completely undermine everything she'd been working so hard to build and then act like she didn't have the right to be mad.

She maintained her angry internal dialogue the rest of the day with phrases like, "Makes me look completely unreliable!" and, "Was that even fucking necessary?!". It was dark by the time she finally left, and on the walk to her hotel the crystalline night sky calmed her enough to admit to herself that she could see why he'd done it. That was as far as she was willing to concede, but at least she understood him. He was who he was, and it was something she admired about him. He was unyielding and sure of himself, he wielded his power with such casualness and she wouldn't change anything about him for the world. She thought she'd finally started to see the Alfie behind his mask, the shtick he so carefully cultivated for everyone else seemed to be becoming less necessary for him when it was just the two of them. They would be working on something, bent over it together, and she would catch his knowing eyes assessing her outright. She was honored he let her see that he liked what he saw, and she could return those gazes. When he was around, she felt confident, her capabilities badges of honor and her accomplishments things to be proud of.

Did he really not know her at all? She had done nothing since she got to London but fall slowly in love with the bakery, and she'd poured her heart and her abilities into making it work better, run smoother. She knew that business better than the back of her hand and she loved every nook, cranny, and dusty barrel. She couldn't imagine going anywhere else, and couldn't imagine why he'd want her to. Her temper flared amidst her melancholy as she remembered he didn't trust her to take care of something like an unreliable bottle merchant.

Mabel had previously tried to mentally list the things that she'd be willing to do for Alfie Solomons without thought or question and was slightly horrified at the outcome. Now she was livid as she realized she would still do them. Even after he'd determined she was untrustworthy, even still being infuriated with him, she knew herself well enough to know the lengths she would go to to prove him wrong.

She wasn't sure where that left her, other than letting herself into her hotel room and curling up on her saggy bed, pulling the lavender chemise between her fingers.

* * *

The next morning, Mabel felt a little more clear-headed and was willing to give Alfie a chance to explain himself (assuming he had an explanation and was willing to give it). He wasn't there until late afternoon, and by then she'd had a dozen theoretical conversations with him, one memorable one where he'd fired her and another where they'd had sex on the rug. She sighed inwardly. That was essentially their basis for any of their interactions. She knocked politely at his office door and waited for him to answer before entering.

Alfie frowned when he saw her and let his spectacles drop onto the desk. Mabel sat in the chair opposite him, her face neutral as she waited. Alfie crossed his arms and let the silence stretch, clearly feeling like he didn't have anything to say. She ground her teeth slightly and smoothed her skirt.

"I'm not interested in telling you what to do, or expecting you to change they way you run your business," she started. Alfie stroked his beard and said nothing. "I was upset...I _am_ upset because you don't trust me to-"

"Who said that?" Alfie interrupted. "Did I ever fucking say that?"

"Well, no, I-"

"Right."

Mabel collected herself. "Alfie."

He glared.

She tried again. "You told everyone not to trust me. I said, 'Don't worry', and you said, 'you should worry'. You're implying right now that you trust me, so either tell me what you want or let me do it my way."

"You're saying that you would have gone over there and taken his business if I'd told you to. You. That's what you're saying, right?"

Mabel said nothing, her ridiculous list taunting her.

Alfie studied her and went back to stroking his beard. "I just wanna make sure I understand this. So let's say I tell you, 'Mabel, you head on over there and overthrow his management and do it so he knows who's boss from here on out.' You'd do it, that's what you're saying."

Mabel said nothing. Her back was ramrod straight, and she held her hands in her lap.

"And what happens if you can't? Huh? Young slip like you, what if you get in over your head?"

She looked him in the eye. "Then I trust _you_."

Alfie sat back at that. He watched her face, deciding. Then he reached in his desk drawer and pulled out his gun, setting it on the desk in front of him. She watched him, calmly.

"You know that most people, this is the response they get for things like what you're saying, yeah? So what makes you think you're above that? You think that just because we're _fucking_ , that you get to have some kind of say on what I do or how I do it."

Mabel flinched slightly at the word but plowed ahead. "I think that you're letting me run your bakery. I think you wouldn't do that if you didn't think I could, and if I was doing something wrong you'd tell me."

"Oh, you do!" he said approvingly. "Oh good, I was thinking my performance review got lost in the fucking post."

"You already trust me to make decisions when you're not here, you expect me to handle things without  
bothering you. But you can't trust me to do those things while undermining my ability to do them on my own. You don't get to trust me and not trust me at the same time, not if you want me to stay here."

Her implied threat hung in the air. She hadn't meant to say it but wasn't going to take it back. Her pride alone prevented that.

Alfie's voice was ominous. "You don't get to tell me what I can or can't do. Now. Fuck off."

Mabel stood, unhurriedly, and said, "I'll see you tomorrow, boss."

* * *

Alfie watched her leave and then scrubbed his hands through his beard. "Fuck!" He flopped back in his chair, scowling.

He did trust her. He had been letting her handle more and more, watching her delegate, manage, and restructure and he had _admired_ her for it. She was capable, and dependable, and loyal. He could count on one hand how many people like that he knew.

What was he doing? The thing with Mesnard…it was something he would have always done. Except this time when he did it, he'd thought about _her_. And he'd gotten it wrong. She'd been furious. He was no good at this, it was ridiculous to even contemplate…

No. He refused to allow that thought to fully form. She was so…and he was no good. No good at this, no good for her, no good in general. And he lived for that, he prided himself on it, always had done. He wasn't going to fuck up the part of his life he had going for him, not in exchange for something he could get wrong.

Alfie sighed, feeling exhaustion in every muscle. His hand was wrapped from where he'd split his knuckles punching the cabinet the day before, and he slowly unwrapped it, flexing the joints and reveling in the ache. This, he understood. Pain you could see was something he was comfortable with. God, he needed a drink. He grabbed his coat and hat and decided to go look for trouble.

* * *

Mabel sat in the bustle of the hotel bar and picked at her food. It was good, and it was nice to come down after a long day dressed in something other than work clothes and interacting with people other than employees. Or bosses. She was absolutely not upset, and she wasn't going to think about him anymore.

Besides, he was a complete fucker, and who cared if he wanted her or not. She could work anywhere, especially now she could add the bakery to her credentials. If she left now, would Alfie let her go? Did she really want him to?

Aaargh, she needed to stop this. She needed a drink. She abandoned her meal and decided to go look for trouble.


	11. Chapter 11

Mabel's eyes shone at the scene around her. The club was full of smoke, music, and bodies and she loved every bit of it. The band's sound boomed through the mics on the small stage and the swish of skirts and squeak of shoes was like another instrument. She felt the bass thudding in her chest and she grinned. Her panting had finally driven her from the dance floor to the bar to catch her breath and she felt sweat drip down the small of her back as she surveyed the dance floor. Still, she couldn't wait to get back out there and move, shake the stress of the day out of her limbs and get lost in the rhythm.

"Sure!" she shouted over the music, accepting the cigarette silently offered by a man at the bar. He presented her a light and she leaned forward to accept, flicking her eyes to his and finding him staring. He was handsome, long and lithe, his eyes flirty. She looked away but smirked. It felt good to be out.

He leaned closer. "I'm Freddie", he said with an answering smirk. "And I can be very charming." He grasped her hand and kissed the back as she took a drag and considered.

"Mabel. And I can be very cheeky."

He laughed, loud and boisterous. He smiled, wide and garish, and presented her with his arm.

"Mabel, my dear, would you care to dance?"

She smiled resolutely and accepted his arm. She'd come here to dance, to unwind, and Alfie wasn't here so thinking about him wasn't going to stop her from...

"Oh, fuck." Mabel stopped dead, staring at the back corner.

Freddie yanked backward jokingly like a dog that had reached the end of its chain. "Well, you weren't kidding about the cheeky." He was grinning until he looked at her face. Then he followed her gaze to the table in the shadows, hazy with smoke and populated by four men. One of whom was looking at them.

Mabel swallowed. Then swallowed again. ' _Fuck, fuck, what is he doing here? Is he going to forever turn up exactly when I'm trying not to think about him?'_

Wait. She was going dancing, not moping about the man in the corner booth. She was allowed to go out, she didn't owe him anything. ' _Right, Mabe, stop acting like a child.'_ She squared her shoulders.

"Old boyfriend?" Freddie joked.

She smiled tightly. "Something like that."

Freddie put his arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, doll. I'm charming, remember? Let's dance." Then he flashed another wide grin and she felt herself smile in return.

"Yeah, alright." She allowed him to lead her to the floor just as the band started up a fast number. It was one she knew and she surrendered to the music, moving and laughing, Freddie matching her every move.

When the music ended, Freddie leaned close and said, "Can I buy you a drink?" She nodded and they moved to the side where Freddie picked a table and held the chair out for her. Before she could sit, though, she saw Abe winding his way towards their table. "Shite. Ok, um, look, Freddie. That guy? He's...well, he's not really..." was as far as she could get before Abe was in front of her.

"Ms. Ziemann. Mr. Solomons would like to see you."

She couldn't see him from there, but couldn't stop her eyes from drifting towards the area where she knew he sat.

Freddie bristled. "Hey, mate, the lady's busy right now." He got in Abe's face, ready to defend Mabel's honor and she rolled her eyes.

"Freddie, please," asking him to back down with a hand in his forearm. She looked back to Abe, thinking. She took her time, weighing her options and decidedly ignoring the ache in her chest which was not doing her any favors in the decision-making process.

"Abe, what if I don't want to see him?"

"Wait, you know this guy?!" They both ignored Freddie.

"I know you wouldn't do that to me, Mabel," Abe answered her patiently.

Mabel clenched her hands into fists, knowing he was right, and dreading this conversation. Freddie looked a little lost, but when she turned to him and said, "Freddie, thank you for the dance, I had a lovely time," a strange look passed over his face.

Freddie turned to Abe, "Give us a moment, please," and he spun Mabel by the elbow and stepped a few feet away. "Mabel, I know we only just met, but if you want me to go over there with you, I would be-"

Mabel stopped him with a small, sad shake of her head. She looked him in the eye and said, "You're very sweet, Freddie. _And_ charming," She kissed his cheek, lightly, "and you are going to make a girl who wants those things very, very happy. But you should probably go home now."

Freddie didn't lose his look of concern and disapproval but stayed where he was as she returned to the table. When she got there, Abe was nowhere to be seen, but she knew the required appearance would still be expected so she navigated towards Alfie's corner booth.

When she got there, Abe was bent over whispering something in Alfie's ear and his face hardened when he saw her. Mabel sighed. _'This is going to be pleasant.'_

"Hello, Alfie, did you need something?" The other men at the table had vanished and Abe retreated a safe distance so they could talk. Mabel took in Alfie's sleek black hat and greatcoat. He reminded her of a tiger she'd once seen at the London Zoo. His relaxed stature and heavy barriers were purposely designed to make you feel safe, but if you could bring yourself to meet his gaze, you'd quickly be reminded that he was fully capable of destroying you. Good Lord, he was sexy.

* * *

It was just like her to show up before he could give Abe the order to kill that dumb shite she'd been dancing with. Fine. He could dance too. He slid his mask in place, although his deep scowl didn't seem to lift much, so he wasn't sure how nonchalant he appeared.

"Sit down, sit down." He waved towards the seat and reached for two glasses and a bottle of their rum. His rum. Right. She seemed to be deciding whether or not to sit, but eventually lowered herself into the booth.

"Drink?" he said, already pouring.

"No, thank you," she replied. He set the glass in front of her anyway and drank his own down in one go.

He fixed her with his most piercing gaze and she looked momentarily flustered as she lifted her hand to brush at the curls that had escaped her pins. Alfie was surprised, he couldn't often rattle her. ' _She's beautiful like this._ '

He felt his eyes widen as the thought flared in him, unbidden and definitely unwelcome. He didn't have time for ridiculous infatuations, he was busy and they were dangerous. There. Done.

"You seemed to be having a good time," his traitorous voice steeped a little more malice in than he'd intended, and he watched her stiffen and her flush creep down her neck.

"I was, in fact. I don't need your permission to have a good time. I've been having a good time _all by myself_ long before I met you, thank you very much." She crossed her arms and glared at a point over his shoulder.

"I don't give a rat's arse if you're having a good time or not. I'm not here to give my permission." Alfie resisted the urge to cross his arms also. He gritted his teeth instead. "I couldn't give a shite if you're coming or going."

"Is that right? Is that with regards to the bakery, or is this about us _fucking_?" she emphasized the word, spitting it at him.

"You seem to have the impression that you're a mite more important than you actually are. I've got lots of business ventures, the bakery itself isn't even in the top half of my priorities." What the actual fuck was coming out of his mouth right now? He clamped his jaw shut to stop the flow of self-destruction that seemed determined to come out.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I still can't tell if this is about the bakery or the fucking."

"You gave me an ultimatum earlier today. I don't do well with ultimatums. But I let it go because you were asking me to trust you. At least, that's what I heard out of you. Is that what you meant?"

Mabel didn't say anything, just kept staring off to the side of him. He felt the flame of anger he'd been harboring since that conversation flare up again and he had the urge to _make_ her look at him.

"And now I get here and I see you eye-fucking some bloke at the bar. So, you tell me. Did you want me to trust you all the time, or just when you think I can see you? Because I need someone that I can actually trust, not someone who's going to run off and jump in the enemy's bed."

Her eyes finally snapped back to his at that. "The enemy's _bed_?!"

"Well, how the hell should I know who you're fucking?"

"I guess I thought you'd know since you'd been there."

"Mmhm." Alfie pressed his lips together. She was infuriating! He'd been counting on her level-headedness and reasonable attitude to see that his hands were tied here and she needed to be understanding. She needed to back off. He needed her to back off. ' _Please, please. Back off, before I say something I can't take back.'_

"You know what?" Mabel threw her hands up. "I can't do this anymore. I have done nothing wrong and I came here to have a good time. I don't have to put up this shite." She gathered her small purse and stood. "Thank you for the drink Mr. Solomon but I will be taking my leave."

Fuck. She hadn't backed off. Couldn't she see that he needed her? Did he really have to say it? Well, fuck that. He was the leader of the biggest and most powerful gang in London, he wasn't going to beg his employee for anything.

"If you walk away from this table, don't bother coming in tomorrow. I don't need quitters either." ' _Don't walk away, don't walk away.'_

Mabel barked out a laugh. "Oh, don't worry, I'm sure you won't have a problem finding my replacement."

"Like I'd worry about that." Alfie's stomach sank as he said it. Why was she making him do this?

She flinched but then glared, a hint of tears showing in her eyes. "Yeah, same here," and she turned to go.

No. No! For the first time since she'd sat down, he realized he could lose this. And not just lose this conversation, but _her_. Wait, he needed to get her to wait. He didn't know how to fix this, but he could figure this out. He didn't want her to go.

"Mabel..."

She glared over her shoulder. "Fuck off."

And then she left. He watched her skirt swish as she walked away, and he felt the molten heat of his anger cool in his stomach, run down his body and turn his feet to lead. He sank into the booth and stared unblinkingly at her untouched glass on the far side of the table.

Slowly, he reached for the glass. He let out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and drank the liquid, grimacing at the burn on the way down. He stood, reached for his walking stick and motioned Abe over with a jerk of his chin. "Abe. Look and see if that skinny fuck she was dancing with is still here and find out what he knows. You have permission to kill him for any reason at all."

Alfie walked out the back entrance, alone.


	12. Chapter 12

Alfie staggered through the alley on his way back home. He should have gotten a cab. It wasn't far, but he probably shouldn't have had that last drink. ' _Actually'_ , he reminded himself, ' _if I had left before I'd gotten those last two drinks, my night would be going immeasurably better in a number of ways.'_ He shook his head, then decided that was a bad idea when the cobblestones in front of him started to sway alarmingly. He was thinking about sitting down and putting his head between his legs, which was why when the blow from behind him knocked him forward onto his hands and knees, he wasn't sure at first if he'd fallen by choice or not.

"Take that you fuckin. Dirty. Jew," he heard someone sneer above him and felt a glob of spit land on the back of his neck and trickle down his jaw. He tried to get his feet under him but was knocked sideways by a kick to his ribs. He groaned, coughed, and tried to roll away. He was corrected by another kick to his ribs, this time from the other side. The two men kept kicking until he heard something snap, then they kicked him a few more times until he lost track of the damage. Finally, he was yanked upwards by a hand on the back of his collar. His own walking stick was forced under his Adam's apple and a foul breath of air was forced in his face when a man grunted, "Sabini says to keep your kikes out of his territory." Then a fist connected with his left eye, and he fell blissfully into unconsciousness.

When he woke later, he wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it was raining slightly and he was shivering uncontrollably. He tried to pick himself up off the cobblestones and almost passed out again when his ribs crunched against each other. He managed to raise himself to his knees, one hand on the wall of the building and the other feeling carefully around his ribcage. Two, maybe three broken. No holes anywhere, though, so that was a win for him. His throat burned, his face was felt too big and too small at the same time. His legs seemed to be working ok, though, so he gritted his teeth and got to his feet. He could make it home from here, it wasn't far. Not far. He moved his feet. Not far. Not far. Not far. Not far. Not far. Not far. Not far. Not far. Not far. Not far...

* * *

"Och! I'm sorry sir! I dinnae ken you were..." Rowena paused as she studied the shape on the bed. He was still dressed, he hadn't even taken off his coat and his muddy shoes had gotten all over the sheets _and_ the duvet, which she would have to wash now, thank you very...

"Sir! Yer bleedin'! Och, my, are ye alright?" his normally unflappable housekeeper was fluttering her hands around him, afraid to touch him for fear of hurting him.

"'M fine, 'wena. 'S need sleep," he rasped into the pillow.

"But sir!" she moved closer, examining his face, "Yer face is bleedin'!"

"Said 'm FINE!" Alfie bellowed as best he could, his eyes shut tight and not moving his head as much as possible to placate the band of boulder-throwing trolls who had taken up residence between his ears.

Rowena hesitated for the space of exactly one heartbeat, then put her hands on her ample hips. "Sir, you set yerself up right now, ye manky numptie, and let me have a look at ye. Yer gettin blood all over my linens."

Alfie sighed and cracked his one good eye at her. She looked worried, covered only thinly with a layer of annoyance. He'd known her for so long that the worry on her face meant he must look pretty bad. She wasn't one to coddle him, which was one of the reasons he loved her. She'd hugged him once in the 10 years he'd employed her: when his mother died. Then she'd told him to stop buying such cheap cuts of meat if he expected her to make decent food for the shiva.

He let his eyelid slide shut, but pushed himself up enough for her to get her strong arms under his shoulders to help. He let out a deep groan when she tried to hold him up around his chest and she immediately stopped to feel the extent of the damage. She tutted as she delicately walked her thick fingers over his ribs and then started helping him undress. He let out a hiss as she pulled his greatcoat down his arms.

"Aye, aye, aye, ye great bairn, I ken it hurts." She wrestled him out of his coat and shirt and made him raise his arms so she could wrap his ribs. "Yer lookin a mite peeley walley, I feart yer needin a stookie fer those ribs but this'll haveta do."

"I never have any idea what you're saying, woman," Alfie grumbled at her but shot her a grateful glance. Eventually, she let him alone and he slept.

* * *

When he woke again, it was afternoon and he'd had two fingers on his right hand splinted and a cold cloth had dripped all over his pillow from where it had rested against his eye, but he felt marginally better. He hissed when he saw his puffy face in the glass, but he ignored Rowena's protests and dressed carefully before heading to the bakery. He had work to do.

When he got in, he spent several hours mobilizing his men towards the border between his and Sabini's land, he completed as much of his business via telephone and Abe as possible, at least until his black eye healed and he could yell without gasping.

"Fuck," Alfie watched the pencil stub fall from his fingers and roll under the desk. He sighed, looking for Abe but remembering he'd sent him out. "Fuck," he whispered again. He maneuvered himself carefully off his chair to the floor trying to reach it while remaining as upright as possible. God, he hoped no one would see him like this, he fuckin' _hated_ broken ribs. His fingers scraped the area under his desk, seeking the god fucking damned piece of shite pencil, when he felt them brush against something small and round. He grasped it unseeingly in his palm and then managed to grab the pencil before mercifully being able to straighten and breathe normally. Well, semi-normally. Alfie opened his fist to see the pencil nestled against a tiny pearl button. He had a vision of tearing Mabel's shirtwaist and scattering those buttons, but he forced the memory away. He thought he'd gotten them all. Alfie resettled himself in his chair and then placed the button carefully in his desk drawer until he could throw it away. When he closed the drawer, he could hear it tink against the whiskey bottle.

Thinking of her made him remember the damned glass factory.

"FUCK." He plowed his uninjured hand through his hair.

"Sir?" Abe had just rounded the corner into the office.

' _He couldn't have shown up ten minutes ago?'_ "I forgot about Canning Town Glass. I still need someone to manage the thrice damned place. Unfortunately, I seem to be short on people qualified for that." Abe, wisely, said nothing. "Say, Abe, do you want to run a factory?" Alfie asked, only half joking.

"No, sir," Abe gave him a half smile anyway. "Why don't you just do what Mabel suggested?"

Alfie only stiffened a little at her name, but mostly because it hurt too much. "What did she suggest?"

"Well, it's in the telegram." Abe stood and rifled through the papers strewn on the desk. "Here," he said, locating it "Arrived early this morning. Sorry, sir, I thought you'd seen it."

Alfie read it quickly, eyebrows shooting up. "Where did she send it from?"

Abe hesitated. "Well, I'm not sure-"

"Find out."

* * *

WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

To: Mr. Alfie Solomons

South Pier Road  
Ellesmere Port  
CH65 4FW

ask secretary at canning town for director recommendations STOP she will know who is qualified END

MZ

* * *

Mabel sighed as she surveyed her childhood bedroom, thumping her suitcase on the floor next to her. Her mother had changed absolutely nothing while she'd been in London ("I always knew you'd see sense and I wanted you to feel right at home when you came back.") and she hated the very sight of it. It was irrational, she knew. It was the room she had grown up in, where she'd dressed for Temple and school, where she'd cried into her pillow when Jake Peavy told her he loved her and then she saw him kiss Susan Barns behind the market. This was where she'd lain awake at night and dreamed of being something more than the wife and mother her own mother had in mind. The trouble was, she wanted that too. But a girl can't have it all, and once the war started, she'd chosen the path she thought would never be available to her. She'd felt it was the right one too, even after Mr. Tritton ( _Sir_ Tritton, she reminded herself) had taken her ideas and claimed them as his own. They were still good ideas, ones that she'd seen come to fruition under her hand and she wouldn't have done it over again if she could have. She knew well enough that you don't get to core out a part of your past without losing part of yourself with it. Unfortunately.

She shook herself out of her reverie. This was home now, she'd better get used to thinking 'future' in here instead of 'past'. It might not be all bad. She could smell her mum's cooking floating up the stairs, and how can you possibly be homesick when you're standing in your home?

She decided that she'd get a hold of Hazel tonight and see what she'd been missing out on. She hadn't had time to call her before she'd left London, just sent a quick telegram to her parents and caught the next train. Plus the one to...the bakery. Anyway, Hazel would be just the ticket for pulling her out of her own head. Decision made, Mabel quickly unpacked and changed for dinner.

As she headed down the stairs, she heard her mother's voice and her blood ran cold and her feet stilled. She recognized the fake cheery "we have company" voice her mother always used when she was putting on her best face. _'Why, WHY is she doing this to me now? Can't she give me one day?'_ Because Mabel knew exactly what her mother was planning. Oh, yes, this was an old game and one that her mother was determined to win this time.

"Mabel!" her mother trumpeted as she entered the kitchen. "Mabel, I'd like to introduce you to Daniel Sonby. He works with your father and he's coming to supper!" She presented him as if he were the prize rooster at the fair.

Daniel was sitting at their kitchen table but rose as Mabel entered the room. He was...short. That was Mabel's first impression. Then she felt terrible, what a horrible thing to judge someone on. She tried again, determined to give him a fair chance. He was impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit, and his hat rested on the table. He had dark, wavy hair that was pommaded within an inch of its life, and soft hands when he shook hers. He smiled at her. He seemed so...nice. She cleared her throat.

"So!" she said with forced cheeriness, "Are you an investment banker also?"

"Ah, yes actually. Well, just started. Your father's been showing me the ropes." His voice was warm, polite. Nothing at all to dislike.

"Well, I hope he's not working you too hard," she tried on a smile. It seemed to stick a little at the corners, but he returned it with gusto.

"Oh, no," he chuckled. Then he paused. Then he kept pausing. Eventually, Mabel realized he wasn't pausing, he was just done talking. She felt a headache starting right between her eyes.

She batted her eyelashes. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Uh, sure," he replied nervously.

"How do you feel about paperwork?"

"Uh, well I suppose that depends. What kind?"

She laughed gaily, head tossed back like he's just said the funniest thing she'd ever heard. She let her fingertips brush his sleeve and he smiled warmly at her. His eyes didn't crinkle at all when he smiled. Not even a little.

Mabel caught her mother's eye and realized she was being glared at. She gave her a wide-eyed innocent look and her mother said, "Excuse us please, Mr. Sonby, we'll be right back."

"Sure, absolutely. But it's just Daniel, please Mrs. Ziemann."

"Well aren't you sweet! Back in a jiff!" Then she hauled Mabel bodily into the hallway. "I know what you're doing, Missy," she hissed. "You stop it right now before you scare him away."

"Oh please, Mother, he's eating it up. And I'm not scary."

"It won't take him long before he figures out that you're making fun of him. Now, he's a nice boy and you aren't in a place to be so choosy. So you try, huh? You try for me."

And Mabel looked at her mother and saw herself. She saw a lovely, intelligent woman who _chose_ to be a wife and a mother and was proud of it. More to the point, she chose to be Mabel's mother, and she was proud of Mabel. Who was she to sneer at that? Besides, she _wasn't_ in a place to be choosy. She'd spent the last several years following a path that had literally led her back to her own front door, and maybe it was time. She mentally tallied her biological clock, shuddered, and then hugged her mum.

"Ok, Mother, you win. I'll try."

So she did. She sat at the table with him and her parents, eating and talking and more eating. She asked him honest questions and listened to his answers, she invited him with her and her friends to go dancing later in the week and he agreed. He didn't smoke, only drank occaionally, and had never broken a bone. He went to Temple, he was excited about moving up in his position at the bank, and he was saving for a new automobile. He'd like to take her for a drive sometime. He thought she had a lovely smile. He didn't swear because it was vulgar. He didn't feel the crime rate in the city was acceptable. He hadn't enlisted because he'd been at University. And he didn't fuck girls on his desk at work. Probably.

He left late, her mother beaming and her father a bit tipsy, and she drug herself up to her room. Mabel changed into her nightgown, carefully arranged her brush and toiletries on the dresser, and packed the chemise and shirtwaist in the far back of the wardrobe. Then she climbed under the covers and made a list in her head of all the things she'd do for Daniel without question. It took a very long time to fall asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

"Oh, come ON, Mabe! It'll be a blast, we will all go. Pete has a new car, he said he'd drive us, and you don't even have to buy anything if you don't want."

"Well, that's a relief, seeing as how I don't have anything to buy it with. Honestly, don't you guys get tired of spending your parent's money on shoes and...what else do you buy?"

Hazel rolled her eyes. "God, you have jealousy seeping out of your ears. It's kind of disgusting. Do you need a hankie or something?"

Mabel grinned. "You're such a hag."

"You love it. Come on, you can bring your little boy toy. I'm sure he'd be happy to spend his hard-earned money on some shoes or whatever it is we buy."

"Oh, don't call him that. And I know he absolutely would buy me shoes if I asked him and then he'd have to eat beans for a week."

"Oh, honey. If he's not eating beans for two weeks, you're not shopping correctly."

"Well, shit, let's make it three, why not! It's not like it would be using him or anything."

"Mabe. What's wrong? You know I was kidding. You ok?" Hazel sat up from where she'd been lounging upside down on Mabel's bed, suddenly concerned.

Mabel didn't want to get into it. She sat at her desk, fixing her hair in the mirror and talking to Hazel, the way she'd done countless times in her life. She fixed her with a fierce smile. "I'm fine! Let's take him for all he's worth," and she winked.

"Oh, no you don't! We have been friends for too long for you to pull this on me. Spill it. Now. Or I'll call for your mum." Hazel looked at her warningly. "I'll do it too, you know I will."

Mabel gave her a half shrug, smile firmly in place. "I don't know, maybe I'm just a bit restless. I'm so used to working every day, being independent. It's a big change."

Hazel swung herself off the bed and expertly took over Mabel's hair, thinking while she worked. "If you'd like, I can talk to my dad ..." she faded off. "Look, I know you might not want to work there, but I'm sure he still respects you and if you really needed something..." she gestured helplessly.

"It's ok, Hazel." Mabel's smile slipped. "I left on good terms, it's just that...I don't know if that's really what's best for me anymore. I don't know what I want. I'm trying to work it out with David, I just need to give it a little more time to see if there's anything there. I promised my mum I would try."

"Ok, sure. Just one question. Who's David?"

"Oh fuck!" Mabel's hands flew to her face. "Daniel, I meant Daniel. Shit, fuck!"

"Yeeeeaah, honey I think you may have answered your own question there. Haven't you been out with him a dozen times already?"

"Four," Mabel answered dejectedly. "And I can't even remember his name." She buried her face in her hands. "I'm the worst person, ever."

"Oh, stop, of course you're not. So you're not into him, so what? What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing! He's...nice." She gave a delicate shudder and Hazel laughed.

"Well, that sounds horrible. Who wants nice?" She finished placing the last pin in Mabel's updo and said, "Viola! You're done. And who wants to be all dressed up with no place to go? Come on, call Mr. Nice Guy and come out with us. What else are you going to do? Mother's flower arranging class is already full, I checked."

"No, you didn't." Mabel gave her hair one final pat. "Fine, I'll come but DavidDaniel is not allowed to buy me _anything_. Don't pressure him into it, ok?"

"Sure, sure." Hazel flipped her hair in the mirror and used Mabel's lipstick without asking. "Tell you what. If you call him DavidDaniel to his face, _I'll_ buy you something." She grinned. "But I bet you won't have to worry about it. I bet he buys you something fancy without asking you and surprises you with it."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Perfect, like I need another-" Mabel broke off and clamped her teeth together with a click. She hadn't meant to say that.

Hazel jerked her head around to stare at Mabel, her mouth a perfect 'O' of surprise. "Another what!" Mabel just shook her head, instantly regretting opening her mouth. "Oh my sweet lord, you have to tell me. Whatever it is, this is going to be amazing. Tellmetellmetellmetellme." Hazel was practically vibrating with the tantalizing hint of unheard gossip. She flopped herself on Mabel's bed, knees drawn up to her chin and her arms wrapped around them like she was 12 again and they were whispering about which girls in their class had boobs and who just pretended they did.

"Ugh, this stupid town is rotting my brain, I can't believe I said that."

"Aaagh, you HAVE to tell me! Please! Please, look at me, I'm dying here!"

Mabel sighed and moved to the wardrobe, digging until she unearthed the box she'd hidden from herself. She placed it carefully on the bed and stepped back, giving Hazel silent permission to look inside.

Hazel, for all her frantic energy, took her time carefully and adoringly unwrapping and lifting each article of clothing out of the box and laying them out on the bed. The white shirtwaist, which had never been out of the box before, was slightly creased where it had been folded but the material had a beautiful sheen to it in the sunlight. The chemise had been folded and re-folded but had the tags on it just like the shirtwaist. "Oh, _Mabe_. They're gorgeous! Where did they come from? They must have cost a fortune."

"I didn't buy them."

Hazel looked up. "I figured. What's his name?" she asked gently.

Mabel swallowed and allowed herself to touch the shirtwaist, hesitantly. She couldn't quite meet Hazel's eyes as she licked her lips and murmured, "Alfie."

Hazel froze. "Wait...Alfie? As in your _boss_ , Alfie? As in, "He's really dangerous you should _cut ties_ ", Alfie? As in he had his _hands_ up my _skirt_ , Alfie?!" Her voice got louder the longer she talked.

Mabel lifted one shoulder in a half shrug and kept her eyes on the clothes.

"How long has this been going on?"

Mabel lifted the other shoulder and started refolding the items into the box.

"Jesus Christ. You are such a floozy," Hazel teased, grinning. Mabel couldn't help smiling a little bit in return. "So, what happened? You're obviously still not over him. Do you want to talk about it?"

Mabel finished folding, placed the box back in the wardrobe and re-buried it. "Not right now."

"Humph," Hazel grunted. "Fine, but I expect full details at some point in the future."

"Sure, hag. I'll let you know when we're ready to pick out curtains."

* * *

Alfie was glaring at his desk. Then he ran the row of numbers for the second time, making scratches on the side. Abe was talking again. Or still. His left hand rolled a button absentmindedly between his first two fingers and his thumb while he calculated, and when he was finally satisfied they were right, he tuned Abe back in.

"...been almost two weeks, and I know we're only going to get busier with Sabini. So I can post the ad tomorrow, or even today if you like, and we can move the desk back out."

"Post an ad? What ad?" Alfie barked. He had an idea where this was going, but if Abe could be scared off, Alfie wasn't above trying it.

"For the foreman position, sir," Abe continued, clearly unfazed by his grumpiness. Hmmm. It may have been a bad idea to let him get self-confidence.

"Absolutely not, we'll just split it up. 'S practically all sorted anyhow." Abe crouched over his desk again, matter clearly closed.

"Sir. This is a full-time job, and we're already seeing the effects of her not being here. I say we just-"

"THAT'S ENOUGH." Alfie stood, his chair scraping backwards and fury painting his face. His ribs ached sharply, both from the shouting and the standing, but he glared Abe down anyway. "It's not going. To be. Discussed. Is that understood?"

Abe stood also. "Sir," he nodded but his eyes were hard. Alfie couldn't care less.

"Pretty sure you've got somewhere to be, yeah? So fuck off."

Abe left and Alfie opened his desk drawer, throwing the button in before slamming it shut.

(Tink, tink.)

* * *

Hazel and her friends were having a great time, and Mabel was genuinely smiling. She had to remind herself that these bright young things used to be her friends too.

"Are you enjoying yourself, darling?" Daniel (not 'Dan', she'd checked) asked, squeezed close to her in the back of the car.

"Mmm," she flashed him a quick smile. She looked out the side, breeze brushing her face as they flew through the countryside. It was nearing the end of the month, she wondered if they'd remember to count the charcoal barrels when they did inventory. She'd set them aside and had a special buyer lined up, but she couldn't remember exactly how she'd filed their names and maybe she ought to send another telegram-

Then Daniel's fingers brushed her jaw and she turned to him. He was gazing at her warmly, pulling a curl behind her ear. When he leaned down to kiss her, she let him. It was chaste, sweet, and everything a girl should want. He pulled away far enough to whisper in her ear, "I'd like to do that some more."

"Mmm," she flashed him another smile, although this one was a little more pained. Everyone's chatter flowed over them again and she turned back to the window. He rubbed her arm absentmindedly, and when they stopped in the next town to start their shopping, she held his hand for as long as she could manage it.

* * *

"So what I'm hearing you say," Alfie started, opening his desk drawer (tink, tink) "Is that you feel you've been paying too much for our protection."

The older man in front of him stiffened, eyes on his hand in the drawer. "Y...yes. Sir," he added quickly. "I mean, it's worth every farthing, of course. It's just that with my son gone and the business falling on hard times..."

"Well, we wouldn't want you to have to pay for something you can't afford, now would we?" Alfie's eyes glittered venomously. "I tell you what, why don't we just cancel the whole thing."

"Cancel?" the man asked, confused.

"Sure! Why, we'll just pull all the protection. Now. Today. I'm sure you don't really need it. I'm sure nothing at all could really happen to your business, say, overnight."

"Uh..." he looked nervous, twisting his cap in his hands. "That's actually...that's not what I was saying actually."

Alfie's hand relaxed off his gun, still hidden in the desk drawer. "Oh, it's not? You mean you'd like to keep doing business with me."

"Y...yes, sir," he stuttered, cap twisting faster now. "Very much so."

"Fantastic! Glad to have you with us." Alfie slammed his drawer shut (tink, tink). "Now fuck off, before I change my mind."

"Y...yes, sir," and he scurried out of the office.

Alfie shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He saw flashes of brown curls, red-kissed lips, heard her burbling laugh, and his eyes snapped open. He opened the drawer again, this time for a glass. (Tink, tink.)

* * *

At the end of the evening, Mabel and Daniel were dropped off at her house, Daniel's car ready and waiting there to take him home. The group puttered away, waving and calling out cheery goodbyes from the car windows and Mabel waved happily back.

She turned back to Daniel, and she noticed he looked handsome in his suit, in the moonlight. The windows of the house were darkened, her parents long since asleep and the silver light shined off his hair, his forgotten hat in his hands. He stepped into her space and slowly lifted his hand to cup her jaw. When he leaned in to kiss her, slowly, so slowly, she turned her head and deepened the kiss. He made a soft sound of surprise when she flicked her tongue to taste his lips and he pulled back, eyebrows raised and a smile on his face. She returned the smile and he squeezed her hands.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" he asked, softly.

She looked down into his eyes. ' _Seriously, why is he so short?'_ Then she registered what he'd said. "To...tomorrow? Um...sure, I suppose so." ' _Well, I guess we're done here._

Daniel stroked his finger along the thin gold chain at her neck and tucked a curl behind her ear. Then he kissed her hand like she was the fucking queen, climbed in his car and drove off down the lane with a breezy wave.

 _'Well, that was...platonic.'_ Mabel decided to head to bed but froze with her hand on the door as a thought struck her. ' _Oh god, what if he thinks I'm a virgin?'_ then immediately on the heels of that, _'Oh GOD, what if HE'S a virgin?!'_ She let out a large fake sob, her shoulders slumped in defeat and drug herself inside.

When she got to her room, she took off the necklace Daniel had bought her that day. Hazel was right, he'd bought it without asking and slipped it onto her neck when she was sitting on a bench. She couldn't think of a polite way to decline it, and couldn't think of a reason for wanting to (or, at least, a reason she could give him) and so she'd worn it. It was slim, delicate, simple. It was lightweight too, so she shouldn't have been able to feel it at all times. She laid it on the dresser and got ready for bed.

She laid in the quiet and tried to picture Daniel. There wasn't any one thing that she didn't like about him, except maybe that his hands were too soft. And he was short, but she was a tall girl and she really needed to get over that because it wasn't like it was his fault. He had a nice smile, and piercing blue eyes that… No, wait. He didn't have blue eyes. And he didn't have a beard. And he didn't have gorgeous full lips that always found that perfect spot below her ear that made her come apart. And he didn't have muscled shoulders that were perfect for holding on to when he rocked against her. She'd never fantasized about his hands or the amazing things he could do with them. He didn't rip her clothing off of her or talk dirty to her on the phone or somehow make her feel special when he asked her a question. She'd never wondered what he'd talk to her about in the dark after sex or whether he'd let her make it ok if he was hurting. She never wondered what he was doing or what he was thinking about. She'd never wanted to make him proud. She'd never wanted so badly to be trusted by a man that trusted no one, to be needed by a man who needed no one. God, she missed him. But she would _not_ cry, because she was thinking about the future and not the past and if she could only focus...' _Stop crying. He's not crying about you.'_ And then she broke down.

Well. A girl's allowed at least one.


	14. Chapter 14

"Now ye need to keep them wrapped or it'll take even longer to heal, ye crabbit wean." Rowena finished tying off the wrapping and helped him shoulder into his shirt.

"Mmph."

"Ye could say 'thank ye', ye ken."

"Mmph!" Alfie grunted at her pointedly, but he smiled and she smiled back. He was getting damned sick of his ribs aching, but he figured he still had a few more weeks of this before he'd feel back to normal.

"Shall I keep supper tonight?"

"No, I'll be late. Leave something in the kitchen, I'll eat whenever I get in."

Rowena bent to tie his boots for him, which was humiliating and very, very welcome because it hurt like the devil to bend over for them. "Sir?" she asked, her hands busy.

"Mmph?"

"Is there a particular reason yer tryin' to kill yerself?"

Alfie felt his jaw tighten. He didn't say anything but when she stood up, she fixed him with a glare.

"Because ye been mopin' around here like more than jus' yer ribs is broken and I'm scunnered of havin' to tiptoe around ye."

Alfie glared right back and held up his right hand. "I've got fingers broken also."

"Och, aye. And yer aff yer heid too, but I don't count either."

"You're fussing, woman."

"Well, someone should, ye ken? I'm gettin' auld, ye need a bairn or two and a nice wife in the scullery."

"But where would I keep you?" Alfie leaned in and gave her cheek a loud smacking kiss. He rose to shrug into his greatcoat, pausing to accept her help.

"What aboot the one ye brought here?" Rowena asked, serious and inescapable.

Alfie stilled. He kept trying not to think about her. About a hundred times a day he had to not think about her. "She left. She's gone." Because it was true. She wasn't coming back, and it was his own damn fault for being right and working his business the right way, the way he'd been running it for years-

"Och, that's easy. Ye just get her to come back."

"Right, easy," he scoffed.

"Talk to her. Tell her ye want her to come back. Ye do want her to come back, don't ye?"

Alfie cleared his throat and picked up his hat. He didn't say anything, just settled his hat carefully on his head, checking it in the mirror.

"'S what I thought. So ye just tell her _why_ ye want her to come back, and then back she'll come," Rowena said offhandedly, handing him his walking stick.

"Mmph. Bank the fire before you go," then he tipped his hat and was out the door.

His car got him to work, he assumed, because he was there and he didn't remember the trip. His mind was occupied with thoughts of ' _MabelMabelMabel_ '. The damned woman had gotten into his head, around his defenses, and he couldn't figure out how to get her out. Maybe it was time for him to decide if that's what he really wanted.

"Abe!" he bellowed as he entered the bakery. He shuffled towards his office, Abe at his elbow rattling off what he needed to do first. "Did you get the Harrington order shipped?"

Abe looked confused. "You didn't say anything about a Harrington order, sir."

Alfie threw his hat and coat towards the chair in his office. "Well, I guess that's a fuckin 'no'." He scratched his beard and sighed. "It's those charcoal barrels in the..."

"...in the back corner, oh fuck! Mabel said she..." Abe trailed off as he checked Alfie's face. Alfie busied himself with papers on his desk and kept his face neutral.

His voice, though, was quiet. "I know you said she sent the telegram from the hotel before she left, but do you know where she is, Abe? Because I feel like you do, and you're not telling me."

Abe knew the danger of quiet. He should, he'd seen it turned on people a time or two. So Alfie knew that the threat was obvious and if Abe lied to him right now, Alfie would have to go down a path he really didn't want to.

Luckily, Abe was just as quiet but he answered, "Yes, I know. You've never asked me before, and I wasn't sure..."

Irritation flared in him. "'S fine, Abe. Where."

But Abe wasn't finished. "I wasn't sure if I should tell you."

Alfie turned slowly to face him. Abe's eyes were wary, but he held firm.

"Mable is...well she's the best boss I've ever had and she's nice." Here, he got flustered, as if he couldn't quite find the right words. "I mean, she's a really lovely person, and…"

Alfie rounded on him savagely, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him up until his toes scraped the floor. He vibrated with fury, every inch of him the lethal powerhouse he usually hid under his careful facade. "You stay the hell away from her. I will kill you, do you understand?" he snarled.

Abe looked at him, and where Alfie had expected to see fear and panic, there was only sadness and bemusement on his face. "You don't have to worry about that with me, sir. I'm not...interested," he said.

Alfie's face didn't change expression, every line edged with ire. But his eyes searched Abe's, and slowly his breaths stopped huffing angrily out his nose. He slowly lowered him to the ground, his face calming but his hands still clenched tightly in Abe's shirt.

"Mmph."

Abe waited, but when there was no other reaction, he plowed ahead to finish what he'd started. "Sir, about Mabel. I didn't tell you because...she knows where _you_ are, yeah? She can come back at any time. But...she's out. She's safe. If she didn't want to be a part of...all this...now she doesn't have to be." Abe's voice was calm, but his eyes pleaded with him to understand.

And Alfie did. God help him, he did. He released Abe's shirt and backed away until he reached his desk. He felt a bit ill. He plowed his hand through his hair.

He glanced over Abe once, from head to toe, and nodded a quick jerk of his head. "Mmph."

Abe turned to go, and Alfie felt a moment of panic. He turned back to his desk to cover it and started, "Abe." Then he didn't know what to say. Abe stood, waiting, and Alfie's eyes stared a hole in the floor at his feet. The silence stretched uncomfortably until the words were torn out of him, "She's important. To me. I...miss her, yeah?"

Abe considered. Then he cleared his throat. Without a word, he walked over to the desk and took Alfie's pencil stub. He wrote something on a scrap of paper and slid it over to Alfie.

Alfie took the scrap of paper and the short number listed on it, fingering the soft edge before stuffing it in his pocket. Then a gruff, "Thank you," and he stuck out his hand to shake Abe's.

Abe looked surprised but shook Alfie's hand firmly. "You should tell her that, and then let her choose, yeah? Here, or there. I'm still not sure I should have given you the telephone number, but Mabel would throttle me for trying to make that decision for her," he said.

Alfie grinned at that, wide and relieved. "Right. Let's get those barrels for the order, yeah?"

Abe raised an eyebrow. "You know that was Mabel's idea to try those barrels."

"Yeah, yeah, fuck off, mate," but he was smiling and Abe smiled back.

* * *

Alfie made it all the way through the day before he called the number on the slip of paper. It had been three weeks since he'd heard her voice, and he felt every day of it in the ache of his ribs. He allowed himself to remember her soft hair, her elegant fingers, and, of course, her angry voice telling him to fuck off. He sat in his office, the quiet of the bakery cocooning him, sighed, and reached for his telephone. ' _Tell her. Let her choose. Tell her. Let her choose._ '

"Ziemann residence," came an older female voice.

"Yes, calling for Miss Mabel Ziemann," he said, mask firmly in place.

"She's not in, may I ask who's calling?"

He cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, tell her it's Mr. Solomons. From London. Calling from London." He cleared his throat again.

"Very well, Mr. Solomons. I will let her know you called. Is there a number...Oh, she's just arrived. One moment." There was a flurry of activity, and then,

"Hello? Alfie?"

He froze for a moment, then said, "Mabel. Hello." He realized he'd been rolling the button between his fingers so hard it was starting to hurt. He didn't even remember picking it up. He quickly dropped it in the drawer and slammed it shut, (tink, tink) but his chest felt lighter at the sound of her voice. He felt...happy. He cleared his throat. "I'm calling to talk to you about...uh...the bakery."

" _The...bakery,_ " she said, skepticism strong.

"Right, the bakery." He felt himself smiling. "Specifically Abe. See, he's been moping around for days. 'S bloody awful! Just awful. "

" _Uh huh_. _What's the problem with Abe?_ "

He could see Mabel, her hip leaning against the counter, lips twitching in spite of herself.

"Oh, I tried to ask him what was wrong, but all he does is sob and say your name. It's fuckin ridiculous."

" _Is that right_?" she laughed.

"'Course. I think he's been missing you. I mean, it's been a mess 'round here, you should see the old place."

" _Well, that all sounds very dire, Mr. Solomons_ ," he could hear her smiling. _"Whatever are you going to do?"_

"Oh, we've tried everything. 'S, fuckin' frightful. I only wish there was something _I_ could do for him," he sighed morosely. "But I did have an idea. You know, one thing we haven't tried."

" _Mmm. I'm sure._ " She sounded like she was biting back a laugh. " _And what might that be, Mr. Solomons?_ "

"I was thinking...you could come back. You know, for Abe." And then he held his breath.

* * *

"For Abe, huh?"

" _Mmph. See, he's bloody obnoxious when you're not here. Well, he's pretty obnoxious when you are here, but lately...well lately he's been inconsolable. 'S fuckin' unpleasant. See, he's been yellin' at everyone a lot more, frightening off the little ones._"

"He must be pretty bad because he was a giant git when I was around."

 _"Quite right. The biggest. He's...ah...he's sorry, though. He told me."_

Mabel's heart thrilled. She couldn't contain the slow grin spreading over her face and she allowed herself a blinding flash of ' _this_ _is perfect, there is nothing in the world but this, right here, right now, I'm ignoring everyone and everything else but what is in this exact moment and I'm going to live here forever_.'

Then she looked over and saw her mother, still standing in the doorway, folding her arms and scowling like she disapproved of the very idea of her happiness. Mabel took a deep breath.

"Tell me, did you get that Harrington order out?" she questioned.

"' _Course I did, mate, 'course I fucking did. I can put out an order, thank you very-"_ If the sudden change of topic startled him, the only sign was the brusque tone he switched to.

"Because I was thinking that if you needed my help in getting it out, I could come to London for a bit," she interrupted. There was a pause on the other end. She tried to give her mother a reassuring smile, which, admittedly, felt small and stilted, and Mabel turned around and faced the wall.

 _"Right. Well then, in that case, Abe's a fuckin idiot and we couldn't even find the barrels. You wouldn't happen to know where those are, would you?"_

"Of course I would," Mabel beamed. "I can come down straight away and get it sorted. And because this is a business related trip, you wouldn't mind purchasing the train ticket, correct?"

Alfie laughed, a round, full sound and she found her eyes slipping closed, the better to focus on her ears. ' _Ok, wait, maybe this is the moment I want to live in forever.'_

" _Fine, love, I'll buy your ticket, but it'll be whichever one is earliest in the morning and I'm going to request a smelly drunk sit next to you_."

"How do you know I won't be the smelly drunk?" she joked. She listened to his warm chuckle and tried to control the tingles it sent through her. She would be perfectly content hearing that sound every day.

 _"I'll take it, yeah? See you then."_

"Yeah." She hung up the phone and turned to face the music; her mother's scowl spoke volumes. She hesitated, then said, "That was my boss, in London. At the bakery."

Her mother sneered. "Smelly _drunk_?" her words dripping with disdain.

"Um, yeah, that was a joke," Mabel giggled nervously. "He's kind of...funny, actually." She wasn't sure this was a word people reached for when describing Alfie for the first time, but his dry humor woven into most of his conversations always made her laugh.

Her mother was clearly done talking about it. She brushed past Mabel on her way to the kitchen. "When will you be done in London?"

"Oh, I'm not sure, actually. I guess it all depends on what they need. I might end up staying for a while." She got more excited the more she thought about it. She tried to tamp it down. She and Alfie had a few things they needed to work out.

Her mother poked her head out of the kitchen looking confused and concerned. "But what about Daniel?"

Mabel looked at her blankly for a moment, then said, "Oh, bollocks."

"MABEL!" her mother squawked.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said as she raced up the stairs to pack.

* * *

Author's Note: Charcoal barrels, or charred oak barrels, are used in rum production to make 'dark rum' as opposed to light rum. Dark rum is aged longer and is generally more expensive.


	15. Chapter 15

Mabel spent ten minutes throwing clothes towards her suitcase before she made herself stop and take a breath. She calculated, and decided that Daniel would be home by now. She sighed. She'd almost forgotten about this part. For all she was sure she didn't want Daniel, he really was a gentleman. He'd been nothing but the man you always hope you could bring home to your parents.

Fuck, what was she doing? Mabel put the shirt she was folding back on the bed and sat, all the wind taken out of her sails. This might be the dumbest mistake she'd ever made. She was actually considering trading in Daniel, a kind, thoughtful, and handsome man with a stable future, for Alfie, a completely mental gangster who was absolutely not kind, or thoughtful, and could very possibly not have a future at all. Worse, she wasn't really considering it, she was running toward it as fast as she could.

' _This is the stuff you make fun of other girls for doing_ ,' she berated herself. ' _There's not even a pros and cons list here unless you're talking about one of each._ ' She threw herself back on the bed. Ugh. Her mind ran through images of Daniel brushing her cheek, bringing her gifts, eating dinner with her parents, complete with appropriate dinner topics, and being a perfect gentleman when she clearly offered him more than the thoroughly satisfactory kiss on her front step. "Bollocks," she said again. He would be a wonderful husband, and probably a wonderful father, and he'd attend Sabbath with her family and her mother would _beam_ at her. She could see the next 20, 30, 40 years stretched before her, comfortable and content.

Then, without warning, she had a flash of Alfie. He wasn't yelling at someone, or stalking around his office like a caged animal, or even ripping her clothes off. It was his eyes, bright with admiration at one of her ideas. Then another flash on the heels of that, of his arms around her, shushing in her ear as she cried, with a dead man at her feet. The man he'd put there to save her. Of him looking her in the eyes when she'd finally calmed and said, "I knew you were in there somewhere." She remembered feeling like he'd really seen her then. Not the vulnerable, raw and broken girl she'd been moments before, but the woman she'd built herself into, painstakingly and one mistake at a time-the one she was proud to be. And he'd been looking for her. Then he'd taken her to his home, removed her shoes and tucked her into his very own bed. He'd recognized she'd need a place to stay and done everything in his ample, dubious power to make it less horrible.

She felt a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth. She wouldn't be able to bring him home to her parents; he wouldn't want to come. But he would care about her, and look for her when she lost herself. He'd watch out for her when she couldn't and be proud of what she could do on her own. With Alfie, she couldn't see past next week let alone 40 years in the future, and she was willing to bet that he couldn't either. And for some reason, this thought wasn't scary. It was comforting.

She headed downstairs to call Daniel.

* * *

Daniel brought her to the park, bought her a cone of chips and they sat on the slightly chilly bench sharing them. She looked at his profile, his sharp nose and slicked back hair and thought, ' _Are you sure Mabe? You could love this man. He might even make it easy.'_

"Daniel," she started. He turned to her, chewing chips and sucking the salt off his fingers.

"Hmm?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

Daniel binned the chip wrapper in the can next to them, then stretched his arms out over the back of the bench. He appeared bemused, and she faltered. Then he actually smiled.

"What?" she asked. "Why are you smiling?"

"Oh, no reason, I suppose. Just, I've heard this speech before. I could probably say it for you."

Mabel was taken aback. "What speech?" she asked, as if she hadn't been practicing it in her head for an hour.

"The Dear John speech, of course. Did you want to do the whole thing? I can listen, if you'd like." He pretended to get more comfortable on the bench.

"That's not fair, how did you know? I didn't even start with, 'We need to talk.'" she fake pouted and he smiled, wide and genuine. She hadn't seen that smile on him before, it made him look younger. Carefree. She felt herself smiling back, an honest smile, and wondered if he'd ever seen her smile like that before. She felt a twinge if guilt at the thought.

"Oh, I've been down this particular road. Although, I'm usually on the other end. Not always, but usually."

"Really?" For some reason, she hadn't pictured him with other girls, although of course he'd have gone with some before he met her. He just struck her as too nice to be the dumper and not the dumpee.

"Mmm," he replied, eyes surveying the park around them. "I was rather hoping I wouldn't have to do this with you, though." She found she didn't have a reply that wasn't 'I'm sorry', and that seemed the wrong thing to say.

"I was pretty worried, you know, when your father first invited me to dinner with his family," he continued.

"No, I didn't know."

"I knew what he was doing, of course, who invites their young unmarried co-workers home to meet their family if they're not playing matchmaker? I'm sure you've been shoved into a meeting or two like that." She felt herself nod slightly in response. "I thought, 'Dear God, she must be a troll' but I couldn't very well say 'No' to my boss now, could I?" He lifted his hand from the back of the bench and brought it to her face. His fingers were cold, and they felt good against her too-warm skin as he brushed his thumb across her cheekbone. "Imagine my surprise when I found you instead," he said, fondly. "You were so lovely, and I decided right then and there to be exactly the kind of man I should have always been. Because you were a rare gift, and a coincidence too perfect to not grab with both hands."

Mabel leaned into his hand, her eyes fluttered shut. If he was trying to make her feel guilty, he was doing a bang-up job of it.

"I am sorry that I let it slip through my fingers," he said, softly.

She kept her eyes shut tight, afraid if she opened them the tears lurking behind her eyelids would fall and fall and fall. This wasn't his fault, and she would not let him feel like it was. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, "Daniel."

"I had a lovely time, honestly. Your friends are fabulously fun," he said, withdrawing his hand.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I had a lovely-"

"Don't." The sharpness of his tone surprised her into looking up and meeting his eyes. "Just, don't." He didn't seem angry, just resigned. He went back to surveying the park, smiling at an older couple walking past them.

"No," she said with enough force to draw looks from the couple before they shuffled on their way. "Daniel, none of this is your fault. None of it, yeah? You're splendid, and I'm the one who..." she broke off and sighed. "I'm apparently every stupid girl I've ever made fun of."

He smiled and leaned toward her, grasping both her hands in his. "You don't have to be if you don't want," he said it calmly, confidently.

She smiled at him, wearily. "I'm moving back to London."

He considered this a moment, searching her face although she didn't know what he was hoping to see. It was just her. "Fine," he declared. "I can move to London too. If you'd like me there, of course."

Mabel gaped at him. "But...you can't just...your job, and you..."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Eh, I can be an investment banker in London. Besides, it might be nice to not be dating the boss's daughter, yeah?" He grinned at her and waggled his eyebrows. She couldn't help it, she chuckled. "So, what do you think?" he asked. "Should we try London?"

The smile slid off her face. This was the part she'd been hoping she could avoid. But she chewed her lip and then forged ahead saying, "Daniel, there's...there's someone else."

The change in him was immediate as his face turned to stone and she saw a river of steel running through his body that she'd never previously suspected was there. He dropped her hands like they were venomous.

She hastened to add, "Not while we've been...together, just from before. And I want to see if I...if _we_ can make it work."

He appeared to think this over. He sat back again, surveying the park. "Why?" he asked calmly.

It was a fair question. It wasn't any of his business, and he would accept it if she'd told him that, but it was, in fact, a question she'd been asking herself. For a long time, she didn't answer him. Then she said, thoughtfully, "I don't know, exactly. Because I want to, I suppose. He's absolutely not right for me, he's dangerous and loud and demanding and exciting and passionate and God, it would be like dating a volcano. We've had sex on his desk for crying out loud."

Daniel cleared his throat. "For the record, I would definitely have been interested in doing that also."

Mabel laughed, her brown eyes twinkling and friendly. He was funny. And smart, and interesting, and possessed of a strength she hadn't seen before. Suddenly, 40 years in the future was looking pretty fuzzy. She realized for the first time that she wasn't letting him go, she was giving him up. He was much too good for her, and she told him so.

"If this is the man you always wanted to be, then you have good taste," she continued. "Except in women, of course. You should have higher standards."

"Oh, I don't know about that." He smiled at her, fondly, and she ducked her head. She didn't want it to be, but it was true. She was making the stupid choice, because...well, because she was stupid. Alfie really was what she wanted, and all the stupidity that came with it.

"Daniel. I need to do this. I owe it to him, but mostly I owe it to myself to give this a shot."

He shrugged. "You want to tame a volcano. I can understand the appeal."

She looked at him, surprised. She thought about it, then said, "No, not tame. Never that. I just want to be the first to walk on the molten rock."

He gave her an appraising look, then nodded once. Mabel reached into her purse for the slim box she'd brought. Inside was the necklace he'd bought her, the one she'd liked more than she wanted to, and the one she felt guilty wearing even though she wasn't with Alfie. He took one look at the unopened box and shook his head. He leaned forward, forearms on his elegant suit trousers, eyes on the park again. "Keep it."

"I couldn't, Daniel, it cost far too much and I wouldn't want..."

"Keep it. That's not about me. Or him. It's about you. It's yours because it suits you. That's why I bought it: because I saw it and thought of this captivating woman who looked like she could use some cheering up. Keep it, ok?" he asked her, then took her hand again, and squeezed her fingers. "That way you'll have it if you ever need to be cheered up in the future." She smiled, squeezed back, and finally nodded. "Or, you can always give me a call and I'll come talk to you. I genuinely enjoy your company Miss Mabel, I would be even more grieved if I thought it was now gone forever."

"I will," she surprised herself by saying. "And thank you, Daniel. I really did have a lovely time."

"And I, as well." Then he stood and held out his hand for hers to walk her home.

* * *

"Oh, my sweet Lord. Hazel, please tell me I'm doing the right thing."

Hazel had plunked herself unhelpfully on the middle of Mabel's bed and was currently watching her pack while chewing a piece of gum. Loudly.

"Well, does it feel like it?"

Mabel paused in her frenzied packing, then resumed. "I don't know. Besides, that's a terrible way to make decisions. I feel a million things right now."

Hazel shrugged, unconcerned, and popped her gum. Loudly.

"Well, I suppose you already know what I'd do."

Mabel laughed. "Yeah, you'd do both of them."

"No. I'd pick Daniel."

Mabel stopped and looked at her friend. "You...you would?"

"Mmm. In a heartbeat."

"But...really?"

"Of course." Hazel looked at her calmly, surrounded by piles of Mabel's things, and looking every inch the spoiled socialite Mabel knew she was.

" _Really_?" Mabel asked one more time.

"YES, Mabel, Jesus."

"But, why? I never thought you'd be interested in someone like him."

Hazel rolled her eyes. "I'm going to assume you mean an investment banker and not a smart, gorgeous, kind, generous man with a great sense of humor and respect for women, and seriously, what else could you ask for? No one else I've dated was any of those things."

"Nor were they investment bankers. You can see my confusion."

Hazel rolled her eyes again and picked up a nearby article of clothing, folding it absentmindedly.

"I didn't know you wanted anything like that," Mabel said faintly. She wondered how long she'd been underestimating her best friend.

She shrugged. "I'm human as the next girl. Sure, I like to go out and have fun, but when I come home, it'd be nice to know someone will be there, they'd be happy to see me, and they'd hug me to show me they were."

Apparently for a while, it seemed. Mabel thought about the implications of what Hazel had said, and realized she'd been very unobservant for a long time if nothing else.

"You know," Mabel started. "I hear he's recently single."

Hazel grinned and shoved her. "Shut up. I don't need your handouts."

"Maybe you do. I hear he's into having sex on desks."

"I don't even want to know how you found that out."

"Sure you do. But I'm going to wait until you ask me, nicely, before I tell you the story. Maybe even buy me dinner. I'm not just going to throw it out there, hoping you're interested. I'm not that kind of girl."

And Hazel popped her gum. Loudly.


	16. Chapter 16

She stepped off the (very early) morning train and dragged in a lungful of London smog. Ugh. Lincoln was big, but it didn't have this. She straightened her new periwinkle blue dress, pleased with her purchase, and wondered what Alfie would think. Then she shook her head at herself. ' _What is it about that man that turns me into a simpering idiot?_ ' She grabbed her bags and headed for her hotel. She might as well freshen up, the day shift at the bakery hadn't even started yet, damn Alfie all to hell. She smiled at the thought.

They'd remembered her at the hotel, assured her that her rate was still the same (almost non-existent) but fell all over themselves explaining that her room had been rented. She assured them it was fine, found her new room and unpacked quickly, then spent the rest of the hour going over possible outcomes of the upcoming conversation in her head. When it was time, she walked the short way to the bakery, stomach fluttering.

She let herself in, movement pausing as she walked through the production floor. She saw nods and a few smiles from her (former) co-workers but she reminded herself that she hadn't exactly said goodbye last time. She wondered what they thought of her. Then Abe appeared in front of her, smiling to beat the band and wrapped her up in a hug.

"Oof!" she let out a surprised sound. "I guess Alfie was right, you did miss me."

He gave her a confused look, but answered, "I did. We _all_ did," he stressed. Mabel blushed. "I wasn't sure if he would call you or if he would get stuck on himself again."

She said, "Well, he did call, but time will tell about the rest of it."

"He's in there. I'll leave you alone. But let me know if you need me, ok? Or kick him in the bollocks. He's scary, but he's still just a man." Abe left her with a grin.

Mabel fidgeted, then headed towards Alfie's office and opened the door slowly. She saw him standing next to his desk, spectacles on his nose and a sheaf of papers in his hands. He looked up as the door opened, then paused. Slowly he set his glasses and papers on the desk and looked like he was trying to find the right words.

The silence stretched and Mabel opened her mouth to say something hopefully funny. Then Alfie dried his palms on his legs and said, "Fuck it." Quickly he walked over to grasp Mabel's face in both his hands. He looked deep into her eyes and then he kissed her, long and thorough and perfect. He kissed her, and kissed her, and _kissed_ her like he was drowning, and she struggled to keep up. She packed three weeks of missing him, and late nights staring at her ceiling, and conversations only half-heard because her head was full of him into that kiss. And he was still overwhelming her. She held on and prayed it would never end because after countless times of trying to remember exactly the way he smelled, suddenly she was wrapped up in him. She was surrounded by the woodsy, heady scent of Alfie and he was kissing her and she stopped thinking. She threaded her fingers through his beard, then buried them in the short hair on the back of his head, tugging. He licked into her mouth and he tasted of rum and lightening and home.

She finally broke away, panting, because she still needed to breathe, and he rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed and breaths brushing her face. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and slipped her arms under his, wrapping them around him and hugging him, hard. She'd missed him, his solid warmth and undeniable presence.

She heard his breath hitch, and she felt awed by this small sound, almost like an admission. Then she heard a low moan squeak out of him. She dropped her arms, panicking. "What it is, what's wrong?" she asked quickly, eyes searching his.

"Broken...ribs..." he grunted, his face clenched in pain.

"Oh my god, you stupid, stupid man," she scolded, rushing him over to his chair and helping him settle into it. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I didn't mean to..."

"'S fine," he waved her off, breath and voice returning mostly to normal.

"What happened?! Are you ok?" She was reluctant to leave his side, instead squatted next to his chair and looked questioningly at him, watching for signs of pain.

"It's fine, most of the time. Should be healed in a few weeks, 's no big deal, yeah? Just takes a little longer to get dressed, 's all." He smiled at her, the edges of his eyes crinkling the way she'd remembered. She felt the worry slowly seep out of her and she returned his smile, trying to picture him putting on his boots.

"Who did this?" she asked gently.

"Mmph. I wanted to talk to you about that, yeah?"

Mabel looked confused, wary. He leaned forward, looking carefully at her.

"Sabini did this. War's gettin' worse, and I need to know. I need to know that you want this, London, Camden, the bakery...me." His eyes held hers, serious and intent. "Because if you do, and we do this, being even more connected with me could be dangerous for you."

Mabel wanted to say yes and throw herself into his arms where he would kiss her senseless again, but she realized the gravity of what he was telling her. He was giving her a choice, a way out, if she wanted it.

"What...what kind of dangerous?"

Alfie sat back. "Mmph. I'm not sure, exactly. But I'd need to be prepared that they'd try to get to me through you. That means keeping it quiet as long as we can, then letting me protect you after that."

And Mabel tried to think about it, really think. Suddenly the week she could barely picture before stretched into months, years, of hiding and fighting, a constant struggle of more Ollie's, more than just broken ribs, and finally, standing over his gravesite, surrounded by his men. She shuddered.

He noticed, of course. But he stayed still, watching, waiting.

"Can I...think about it?"

"Mmph," he nodded in assent. "But not long, yeah?"

"Alright," she stood, legs tingling from crouching.

"Mabel," he stopped her, fingers grasping hers. "I _would_ protect you. I want you to know that. I would never let anything happen to you, yeah? That's not nothing."

"No, it's not," she replied and she squeezed his fingers. His breath hitched and her eyes jerked to his. "Oh my god, your fingers too?! Is there anywhere else on you that I should avoid for fear of hurting you?"

"No," he said, forcefully. "Nothing at all."

She looked at him, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes fierce. She nodded and he relaxed and she stepped close to him. With her fingers, she smoothed his eyebrows, brushing away the worry and tenseness there. Then she traced his nose and cheekbones and then ran her fingertips through his hair, massaging his head. She kept stroking his scalp, over and over, applying pressure and then pulling his hair through her fingers, tugging at the end. His eyes drifted closed and he let out a faint sigh through his nose. He leaned his head against her chest and wrapped his arms around her waist and they stayed that way, her petting and him hugging and they soaked away three weeks of missing.

Eventually, she pulled away and said, "I'm going to my hotel. I've got a few things think about, and no offense, but I don't tend to think rationally around you."

Alfie grinned lasciviously and let her go. "Right," he said, his jovial nature back in place. "Well, whatever you decide, you've got a job here."

Mabel took it for the compliment it was and nothing more. She nodded, but she knew that if she decided to walk away from him, she would be walking far, far away. There was no way she'd be able to work next to him day in and day out and not have him. It would be torture of the highest form. She kissed his cheek and let herself out.

He watched her go and tried to decide how much time could reasonably be considered "not long".

* * *

Mabel's mind fluttered and she couldn't focus on any one thing, so she watched the tips of her shoes striking the pavement. It was still fairly early (thanks again, Alfie), and it was warm in the sun, so when she reached the front of the hotel, she slowed but didn't stop. She let her thoughts drift where they may and finally realized she'd been thinking about Alfie for quite a while and still hadn't come anywhere near making a decision. She probably needed to think less about Alfie and more about the situation he'd described.

Technically, she'd always been in danger. Working with Alfie was a risk no matter how close you were to him. She had aligned herself with him a long time ago, and while they'd never technically been "a couple", she wasn't exactly sure how soundproof his office was. She wouldn't have been surprised if people knew they were occasionally more than co-workers. Alfie seemed to think the danger was more possible now, which was definitely something to think about. He wasn't a man to cower in the face of threats, which was why this was well and truly her decision. She rolled that around for a while but couldn't come up with any new items on the pros and cons list in her head.

She started thinking about Alfie again, about what it could be like if she stayed. She wasn't sure how Alfie would define them and what he might consider the difference between keeping their relationship 'quiet' and keeping it 'a secret'. They needed to talk.

A particularly loud rumble from her belly reminded her that she'd missed breakfast and now she'd been walking so long probably lunch as well. She sighed and mentally plotted out a meandering route back to the hotel. She wanted to get her own head sorted out before she saw him again because they also needed to talk about the reason she left London in the first place. He had apologized (albeit in a very Alfie way), which, while a requirement of hers, wasn't actually something she'd thought he would do. If she decided to stay, they definitely needed to lay some ground rules for working together, something they should have done long ago.

Yes, they needed to talk. But now that she had a list of pros and cons to staying in Camden and specific things she wanted to talk to him about, she felt better. Her shoulders unhitched from her ears and she took a deep breath. The day was beautiful, and she was going to talk to Alfie, and afterward...who knew?

When she finally found her way back to the hotel, she felt grimy and worn out. She headed towards the managers desk to have them fill the copper tub in her room because a hot bath sounded heavenly. However, when she got there, she could see he was busy being verbally thrashed by a man complaining that their room had been broken into and wasn't he going to do something about it because they were owed and by god, someone was going to pay. She tried to catch the manager's eye to give him a look of sympathy, but he was cowering, saying the police should be here any minute to investigate. Mabel doubted the police would do any such thing and apparently the man at the front desk was of the same mind because he relaunched his verbal assault. She decided it might be better to ask about the tub later. As she headed down the hallway to her room, she could hear the dramatic wailings of a woman bemoaning the state of her remaining possessions. With a start, Mabel realized it was coming from her old room. _'Well, I guess I can add London crime on my con's list.'_ She smiled wryly at the irony of _her_ complaining about the crime in this city as she entered her new room, thinking desperately of washing off the grit from her walk.

The door was slammed shut behind her and she spun around, heart pumping. Two oily-looking men advanced towards her, both holding guns and pointing them straight at her. They were dressed in dark suits, the shorter one had a thin, black mustache, the larger was young-much too young to be wearing the malicious grin he had on his face.

"Look, doll, we don't want to have to hurt-," said Mustache, but she's heard enough. She heaved her entire body weight toward Babyface, the closer of the two men, even though he was taller and heavier than her. Her shoulder hit him in the diaphragm and he let out a surprised, "Oof!" She tried to use her momentum to get around him and to the door, hallway, escape but Mustache grabbed her upper arm and twisted her back. Fear started blocking out her thought process. She _knew_ the longer it took her to get to the door, the greater chance she'd be hurt. She had to get away. She fought them with every muscle, every fingernail, elbows and feet flying. She tried yelling for help, pounding her heels on the floor, and she promised herself she wasn't going to give in. But despite her best efforts, Babyface soon had an arm around her throat, seemingly determined to crush her windpipe. Mustache was advancing, and she heard Abe's voice in her head. " _Kick him in the bollocks. He's scary, but he's still just a man_." With all her might, she lashed out, aiming for that sensitive spot. But Mustache anticipated her move and caught her ankle before she could hit him. Then, he started lifting it. He kept lifting until she was off balance, and then grabbed her other ankle. The two men had her suspended in the air, stretched out between them, Mustache holding her ankles and Babyface holding her by his forearm under her neck. It hurt, her weight supported by her neck, making each breath a task she had to focus on. She started seeing stars bursting across her vision, but still she swung her limbs, uselessly trying to hit legs, forearms, anything.

Both men were breathing hard from their efforts, and she tried to focus on breathing too, but her sight was starting to go black around the edges. The darkness was crowding in, and she tried one final time, scratching her fingernails down his arms ineffectively, her brain buzzing with terror at the thought of what would happen to her if she passed out.

Then, suddenly, blessed relief as sweet, sweet oxygen flooded her. She gulped down lungfuls of it, reverently acknowledging the heaviness of it on her tongue, regretting every moment before when she had never even noticed how air was the most precious thing in her life. She barely registered that they'd bound her hands behind her back with strips torn from her bedsheets until they were using strips of the same sheet to gag her. Her eyes flew wide as they restricted her beloved oxygen again and she tried to cry out, her bruised throat croaking against the cloth. She focused on drawing air into her lungs through her nose as Babyface shoved her, stumbling onto the bed.

She stopped moving, trying desperately to catch her breath and think of a plan. She heard them arguing, hushed stressed tones.

"...can't just shoot her, the boss wants her for bait."

"Well, why'd we bring the fuckin' guns then if we weren't gonna use them?" Babyface said. She flicked her eyes without moving and spotted one gun on the floor a few feet away. Her hands were tied, but maybe if she could...

"Because we were supposed to scare her into getting in the fuckin' car, ya dumb shite!" Mustache said.

"Fine! Let's get her in the fuckin' car then! And stop fuckin' callin' me that!"

"Fine! You walk her out of here, tied up and gagged, past a dozen people and possibly coppers that are only here because YOU can't find out a FUCKIN' ROOM NUMBER! YOU DUMB SHITE!" Mustache's voice had risen too loudly and they both paused, glaring at each other with fists clenched.

Mabel hesitated for only a second, then heaved herself off the bed as quickly as she could in order to scramble for the door. Both men made to grab her, which was why they were unarmed and unprepared when the door burst open and Abe entered, gun drawn and scowling face telling them to not fucking move a fucking muscle. His stance and tone screamed authority, and both men froze in spite of themselves, Mustache's fingers digging into her already sore upper arm. From where she knelt on the floor, Abe looked murderous, and she had no doubt in her mind that he would use that gun, expertly, at the slightest provocation. Then she heard a familiar voice and her heart stopped for a half-beat before starting again at three times the speed.

"Well, what have we here, gentlemen?" Alfie's form appeared in the doorway in a slow cloud of black coat and walking stick, his jovial tone not disguising the fact that he was wrathful death, and he was furious.

For a second, no one moved. Then Mustache lunged for the gun but Alfie was faster. He took one step and swung his walking stick into Mustache's face, crunching bone and snapping off teeth. His head jerked back and he screamed, blood pumping from his nose. Alfie reared back and hit him again, breaking something else in his face this time and sprawling him on his back.

And then Alfie kept hitting him, arcing his walking stick through the air over, and over, smacking into meat and bone and splattering blood with every swing. He kept on, even after Mustache stopped moving and his face was an unrecognizable pulp smashed into the floor. There was so much blood, it sprayed the walls, ceiling, and Mabel with its warm, red attestation. Eventually, his walking stick snapped and he stopped, chest heaving and his face manic.

He rounded on Babyface, who had been frozen under Abe's glare, watching the proceedings over his shoulder with a horrified fascination. When Alfie faced him, though, he recoiled in fear, hands raised and backing up until he ran into Abe's gun jabbing him fiercely in the back.

"N...n...no! Mr. Solomons, please! Please. Ok? Just, please."

"Shut the fuck up." Alfie leaned over nonchalantly and retrieved one of the guns that had fallen, forgotten, during the men's struggle with Mabel.

Abe pivoted to stand next to Alfie, and together the two men stared him down.

Alfie's face was vicious and terrifying. "Tell Sabini..." Alfie started and then shot him in the head. Blood and bone painted the wall behind him, and Mabel screamed, the sound torn from her painful throat and muffled by the gag.

Alfie turned to her and quickly removed it, just in time for her to turn her head and heave the meager contents of her stomach onto the floor, her hands still tied behind her.

He rose, slipping the gun into his coat, and went to Abe. "We are starting this. We are _ending_ this. Get the boys together and tell those fucking Birmingham _fucks_ that we are cashing in. Understand? We are cashing in. Tonight, 21:00. We meet them at the line."

"Right, boss," and he left.

Mabel thought then that Alfie would come to her, _needed_ him to come to her, but he only threw her few unpacked items into her bags before cutting her loose. He used the sheet strips to wipe flecks of blood from his face as she rubbed some feeling back into her sore wrists.

"Can you walk?" He still hadn't looked her in the eye. She nodded and he helped her rise. When she was standing and close enough to see his face, she realized his usually immovable mask was slipping. He looked raw and exposed, desperately trying to hold it together. She wanted to gather him to her and have them hold each other for a thousand years.

"We have to go, now," he said instead, rigid and brittle.

She nodded again and he gave her a clean handkerchief from his pocket. For a moment, she wasn't sure what to do with it, then looked down at her ruined dress. She used the cloth to wipe her face, scrubbing too hard, and he lead her down the hallway, her bags in his hand.

They stopped by the front desk where the manager was cringing away from them.

"Give me the register. Now," he said and the manager scrambled to comply.

Alfie scratched something while Mabel nervously swept her eyes over the lobby. She badly wished she could appear as unaffected as Alfie pretended to be, or at least that she wasn't shaking like a leaf on a tree.

"You never saw us, yeah? Those were Sabini's men, and if anyone asks, so was the person staying in room 217. And that's all you know, yeah?"

The man nodded frantically and Alfie deposited a large roll of notes onto the counter. "I'll send someone by to help clean up."

"No...no need, Mr. Solomons," the terrified man squeaked out.

Alfie nodded and dropped a few more pounds on the counter before they left, climbing into Alfie's car and pulling away. Mabel had a sense of deja vu as she rode next to him, slumped against the window and was mildly surprised that the sun was still out, shining merrily. It seemed a long time ago that she'd walked happily in the warmth and it felt like they sky should be filled with black, ominous clouds.

Her feeling of deja vu only intensified when they pulled up to the curb and Alfie walked her, once again, into his house.


	17. Chapter 17

Mabel was still shaking as she entered Alfie's home, so he pulled out a dining room chair and made her sit. He disappeared for a few moments and immediately a deluge of violent and graphic images assaulted her. She closed her eyes, _tight, tighter, tighter, how tight can you shut your eyes, Mabe? If you shut them hard enough, will it go away? If you can stop thinking about it, does that mean you won't see it when you open your eyes? If..._ and she jerked when a hand touched her leg. She recoiled unthinkingly and her eyes flew open-and there was Alfie, kneeling in front of her with a damp flannel in his hand and a brief flash of hurt in his eyes. Then it was gone, and he set the flannel down and instead helped her stand so he could guide her down the hallway to the bathroom.

If she'd been in any shape to notice, Mabel would have been awed by the beautiful, modern room. It was decorated in greens and whites, a tiny oasis in the middle of the house. He led her to the large, clawfoot tub and turned the taps. Taps! On the bathtub! She'd never had a bathtub with taps, usually each washing a tedious chore of heating and dumping buckets of water.

As it was, she stood numbly while the water filled the room with steam and Alfie methodically helped her step out of her shoes, then stood behind her to unzip her dress. When the zip was about halfway down, he paused and she felt him run a thumb over her back, almost tenderly. Then she remembered that she'd worn the lavender chemise today, a million years ago when she'd gotten dressed, thinking about him welcoming her back. He finished unzipping quickly and slid the dress forward off her shoulders. Her beautiful new dress puddled at her feet, an elegant swirl of periwinkle and crimson. She looked away.

But thinking about getting dressed that morning had brought her back to herself somewhat, and she managed to finish undressing while Alfie gathered towel, flannel, and soap and shut off the steady stream of water. He left then, taking the dress with him and she was profoundly thankful. She sank into the warm water and stayed still for a moment, just a moment, before starting to wash. She washed everything twice, sure she'd missed a drop somewhere that would taunt her when she finally saw it. She unpinned her curls, letting them fall down her back and then washed her hair too. She knew she was taking too long, and that Alfie would probably need to get cleaned up also, but she allowed herself the time it took to scrub her hair clean and detangle it with her fingers.

She stepped out and dried off and was standing in just a towel debating exiting the bathroom wearing that or her undergarments when Alfie knocked and entered, wordlessly holding out a man's dressing gown. She accepted it gratefully and tied it around her before removing her towel.

Alfie took it from her, hesitantly, and said, "I'll buy you a new dress." She realized it was the first thing he'd said to her since he'd asked her if she could walk and ushered her out of the hotel.

"You don't have to do that." Her voice sounded hoarse, and it hurt to talk.

He looked at her then, assessing, and said, "I want to. It was a stunning dress."

And Mabel wondered about the state of her mental health, because for the first time that night, she thought she might cry. She stepped closer to him and saw that he must have washed because his hair and beard were wet and his collar was still damp in places. She looked into his face and saw...fear. His eyes pleaded with her wordlessly, and she couldn't wrap her arms around him fast enough. He buried his face in her neck and they stood, unmoving, breathing together. His body was rigid and one wrong move might shatter him.

"Alfie," she said, softly. He froze, his body stiffening even further. "Alfie, look at me. Please?"

He pulled back, eyes wary, ready to go on offense or defense at a moment's notice.

Her voice croaked, but she needed him to know this. "I was so glad to see you. There is no one I would have rather seen come through that door than you."

Then he kissed her, and even though it had been her trying to comfort him, she was lost. She had known the moment that Alfie had shown up that he was going to do something awful, and she had still been happier to see him than a thousand policemen. She knew that he was there for one reason, to keep his promise and protect her. She felt some of the tension leaving his shoulders, and she tried, with that kiss, to tell him everything she couldn't say. Yes, the violence disturbed her, and yes, she knew and had always known, that he was a man capable of horrible things, but when he walked into that room, she'd never felt more safe.

* * *

Alfie carried a plate covered in a cloth to the dining room table and proceeded to place half of the food on a second plate. The late afternoon sun shone through the window and she watched his hands working. She was sure she wouldn't be able to eat a bite, but when he slid one of the plates toward her, she remembered she hadn't eaten at all that day. She fell on the food, eating only slowly enough not to appear rude.

While she ate, she watched Alfie, sitting across from her. He ate with a clinical detachment, efficiently, and she wondered if he always ate like that, or if he was as shaken as she felt. She realized she'd never seen him eat before. She had seen so much of Alfie, but there was so much that she didn't know. She'd seen him at his worst: raw, and malicious, and frenetic, and at his best too: caring, and funny, and passionate. She had seen the animal that lurked beneath the man, and now she tried to reconcile him with the man whose head she'd massaged that morning and the one in the bathroom, whose eyes had pleaded with her to stay, to not hate him. She'd seen firsthand the vengefulness that he usually kept contained, and instead of being frightened, all she wanted to do was comfort him. Mabel stopped eating to reach for his hand across the table.

* * *

This is why. This is why Abe didn't think Mabel should have come back, and fuck it all if he wasn't right. He was the world's biggest prat for even calling her, she was perfectly safe and he fucked it all up. Alfie had been mentally berating himself since they got in the car and he drove her to his home. This was the second time she'd been in his house because he'd killed someone in front of her. Good God, what was she doing with him? He fed her ruined dress to the fire and watched it smoke until it finally caught, bright flames licking and consuming.

He wasn't sorry. He wasn't. He would have done it anyway, probably, even if he'd known it would make her go that ashy grey colour and throw up. Of course it made her throw up because she didn't deal with this, ever. Because she was a good person and not a criminal and shouldn't have even been a part of this war. Alfie's jaw hardened at that. She _shouldn't_ have been a part of this war, and FUCK Sabini for dragging her into it. He hadn't considered Sabini would pull something like this so soon, how had he even found out about her? It had to have been someone at the bakery, and they had to have been there this morning when Mabel came in. He needed to get ahold of Abe before they...the touch of Mabel's hand on his made the roaring fire of his thoughts dissipate in a wisp of smoke.

She was so beautiful and she had flinched when he'd touched her and god, he was such an arse. He swallowed past the ache in his chest as he turned his hand over to meet hers, palm to palm. He watched her fingers trace his and knew what a horrible, horrible person he was. It wasn't because of everything he'd done in the past, thought he'd done some abhorrent things. And it wasn't because of the things he was sure to do in the future, both near and far. It was because of right now. Right when he should let her go, _tell_ her to go, he was going to hold on with both hands and hope she didn't think of it herself.

Refusing to scare her again, Alfie moved slowly, deliberately out of his chair and toward her. He stood next to her, looking into her upturned face and trying to memorize every eyelash, every freckle. He twirled one damp curl around his hand, fingering the silky length. He watched his fingers slide down slowly, every inch of the glossy strands sending sparks up his arm. When he reached the tip, he looked at her eyes and saw her pupils blown wide with desire, her lips slightly parted. She saw him staring and her tongue flickered out in anticipation.

"Alfie..."

But Alfie stopped her by bringing his thumb along her lower lip. He pulled her lip down softly and she caught his thumb in her mouth, sucking gently. Alfie groaned faintly, then replaced his thumb with his mouth. He kissed her slowly, urging her to stand, like they had all the time in the world. She met him readily, tongues sliding together as he delved into her familiar taste. He nibbled her lower lip and then made her gasp when he found that perfect spot below her ear. Alfie slipped his hand into her dressing gown, cupping her breast. She let out a breathy moan against Alfie's neck and he started to think all the time in the world was taking too long. He stooped to lift her by the hips and settle her legs around his waist, then recaptured her mouth. She crossed her ankles behind his back and he carried her towards the bedroom, kissing her reverently.

Alfie deposited her on the bed with a bounce and she grinned up at him. He crawled up her legs, returning her grin and she reached for his face to kiss it off of him. He deftly untied her dressing gown, spreading it open and pulling back to look at her. She was glorious, heavy-lidded eyes and red-kissed mouth, nipples taught in the warm air. He ran his fingertips up her miles of legs, mapping calves, knees, the inside of her thighs. Her breathing sped up as he brushed the backs of his fingers over the soft curls between her legs, but she stopped him.

"Hey, absolutely not, you're taking your shoes off this time."

She sat up and let the dressing gown slide off her shoulders, then she removed her arms from the fabric and reached for him. She kissed him while deftly undoing buttons, and Alfie tried to touch every inch of her satiny skin he could reach, not caring when he got in her way. She grinned at his singlemindedness but made him stop to remove his boots and socks. Together they finished undressing him and he marveled at the wonder on her face as she stared at him. He reached for her but she stopped him again and he made a noise of protest.

"Just...I want to see you. Good God, you are magnificent," she said.

He shook his head at her ruefully and reached for her again. He kissed her while he ran his broad palm over her, starting at her hip, up over her ribs and breasts and up her neck. He grasped her jaw, his long fingers wrapping around the base of her skull and he could feel her hands on him, outlining and plotting, memorizing him as he was memorizing her.

He kissed his way to her breasts, taking one nipple in his mouth and then the other, lavishing them until she was whining, her hips rolling beneath him. He reached between them to explore her heat, his mouth never leaving her breast, tongue flicking lightly and his fingers mimicking his movements. Her back arched into him.

"Oh! Oh, godohgodohgod, Alfie."

His name in that breathless plea drove all remaining rational thinking out of his brain and he couldn't wait any longer. As he reached down, prepared to guide himself into her, she pushed his hand away and wrapped her thin fingers around his shaft instead, stroking upwards over and over and it was his turn to groan, low and insistent. She didn't stop, though, adding a twist at the end that was almost his undoing.

"Ungh! Mabe, ungh! Mabel," he panted.

He was embarrassingly close, so to distract her he found that spot below her ear with his tongue and when he licked from there to her earlobe and drew it into his mouth, she almost came off the bed.

"Ah! Oh, fuck, Alfie."

"Yeah, that." He brushed her hand away and slowly, too slowly, pushed into her. She raised her leg to hitch around his hip, pushing back and taking him in that much further, until he was buried in her. He paused for a moment, getting himself together and pulled back to look at her. She looked positively debauched, her hair fanning over his pillow and her lips swollen from kisses but the part that took his breath away was the look of trust in her eyes. He didn't deserve it, but God damn if he wasn't going to take it. He kissed her, fiercely, and began to move. Mabel planted her other heel on the mattress and met him thrust for thrust, their speed increasing as three weeks of longing caught up with them. He drove into her, relishing the noises he could draw out of her.

She was slick and hot and tight and he couldn't get enough. He was inside her and he already wanted her again, and again, tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. He wanted to slow down, to make it last, but he could see her starting to come apart below him. Her muscles quivered around him and focused on her pleasure until she screamed his name and he tumbled after her, spinning out of control.

She held him as he came back to earth, hugging him with arms and legs, a blissed out smile on her face. He'd never seen anything more exquisite. She sighed softly as he withdrew, and he used the dressing gown that was still under her to clean them both up a bit. Then he reached for the afghan at the foot of the bed, curled up behind her and raised it over both of them. He lay there, breathing in the scent of her hair that smelled like his soap and felt, just for a moment, at peace. He raised himself up on one elbow to look at her face. She looked...happy. Content. And awake.

"Go to sleep, woman," he whispered.

"Mmm," she hummed and closed her eyes.

He watched her for a few seconds, waiting for her breath to even out, then dropped the barest of kisses on her shoulder before laying his own head down. He missed the soft smile it caused, but it was there.

* * *

When Mabel woke, it was dark, and she was alone. She called his name but knew that he was gone, fighting a war he might lose. She sat in his bed, surrounded by the heady, warm, woodsy scent that was Alfie and cried. She cried tears for all they'd been through, all they would be going through, and all the things she couldn't bear to think about going through without him.


	18. Chapter 18

Mabel paced. She had already spent hours scouring every inch of Alfie's house, raiding the kitchen, and flipping uselessly through one of Alfie's many, many books. She couldn't focus on the words, couldn't sit still. So she paced. She had found a box next to the bed when she woke containing a beautiful new dress. She smiled as she made use of Alfie's fantastic bathroom (taps! on the bathtub!), because he really must have liked the last one. This one was stylish, with a long torso and dropped waist, but more practical than she'd expected and she appreciated it. But it was the exact same periwinkle color.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She jotted a note in case Alfie came back and left. She walked to the bakery, mind churning and wondering if this was silly. But when she got there, she realized it wasn't silly at all. Alfie wasn't there but the bakery was swarming with injured men, and a chaos that made her switch immediately into business mode. She started directing men who seemed relatively unhurt to cordon off areas for trauma, recovery, and food. Then she went to Alfie's office to use the phone. She hesitated for a moment, then dialed.

"Hello? Hi, Rachel. It's Mabel. Listen, didn't you say you had a friend that's a nurse? Ok, can you call her up and have her meet me at the bakery? We've got a bad situation here, and we've got some men who need medical attention, but we can't exactly go to the hospital. Yes, have her bring them, if they can be discreet. Thanks so much, you're the best."

Mabel focused on the work. She organized wounded by severity, made phone calls to acquire food, water, bandages, and when she was summoned, went to meet the three young women at the front door. They were all dressed in nurses uniforms and carried black bags. The blonde with the cute curled bob introduced herself as Nurse Franklin, Rachel's friend. "And this is Nurse Miller and Nurse Lee. Show us where we can help."

"I'm Mabel. Thank you so much for coming, and thank you for your discretion. Right, this way."

Mabel was grateful that once pointed in the right direction, the ladies took over and moved with confident efficiency. She paused for a moment to admire their poise and that's when she heard his voice. Alfie was screaming about something, frantic and furious and she'd never heard anything so dulcet. He was alive. Whatever else happened that night, her worst fears had been alleviated. She ran to him, desperate to see his face, and when he caught sight of her he broke off immediately and engulfed her in a fierce hug. He kissed her harshly, almost painfully, and gritted out "I couldn't find you." She pulled back to see his face, and it was then that she realized he was covered in blood.

"Oh, god, are you hurt? What's going on, are you ok?" Her hands flew over him, checking for holes.

"'m fine, it's not mine." She breathed out her relief, until he said, "It's Abe's".

Mabel felt the blood drain from her face. Alfie hastened to assure her that he would be ok, he'd been shot and they took him to the hospital but the doctor said he'd be ok.

"He said his bowling career is over, but he'd live."

When the hubbub had died down and people had more or less settled down or gone home, Mabel caught sight of Alfie. He moved, and yelled, and pointed like normal, but there was a tightness to his shoulders and a careful blankness behind his eyes. When he was between tasks he looked shattered and haunted, but he was here and he was whole, and she would be forever indebted to the forces that allowed him to come back to her. The nurses were long gone, the last of the donated food distributed, and she pointedly handed Alfie his coat and hat.

* * *

Alfie felt cool, aloof detachment as he shot bullet after bullet, falling men and blood and screaming and muzzle flashes and then he couldn't see Sabini anymore and Abe got shot in the shoulder so Alfie tried to shoot the Frenchmen coming over the trenches and grab Abe at the same time. When he looked down, Abe was gone and he was ankle deep in mud. He heard a familiar voice behind him groaning out his name and he ran the other way as fast as he could, shooting far more bullets than his gun could carry. In the midst of the smoke and blood and gunfire, he saw a flash of color out of the corner of his eye. A beautiful color in the midst of all this horror, a color that had no business being here. Periwinkle. He wrenched his body towards that flash, desperate to make sure it wasn't what he thought it was. He struggled over bodies that kept piling in front of him, men screaming and dying and he couldn't _get there_. Then he was digging, scrambling toward the scrap of fabric under a heap of bodies, periwinkle streaked with blood mocking him. He threw bodies off her until he saw her, unseeing eyes cold in her pale, beautiful face.

"No. No! NonononoNONO _NO!_ "

He woke, sweating and panting, clutching sheets in his fists and eyes desperately seeking enemies in the darkness. What he saw was Mabel, her concerned eyes inches from his own and she touched his face, his forehead, her lips pressed into a tight line with worry. He reached for her unthinkingly and pulled her to lay with him and he curled around her. He tucked her into him with his arm around her middle as if she might try to escape. He breathed in the scent of her hair, her neck, and she closed her eyes and leaned into him so trustingly. He let his breathing slow, his thoughts still. She was real and here next to him, safe and whole. He touched the warm skin of her shoulder, as proof she was truly here and followed it down to her arm, her elbow, over the delicate bones of her wrist and down the length of her long fingers. He watched his fingers trace their path in the faint moonlight and reveled in each detail, wishing there was a way to preserve this exact moment and the way she looked right now and the way his throat seized up when she grabbed his fingers with her own and dragged his arm back around her. He wanted to be able to retrieve this exact memory when he was 70 years old and examine the way his chest seemed to be expanding into his throat. He tightened his arm around her even more and held on, wondering how long she'd let him stay there. She felt safe, and sure of herself, and comforting.

"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, and he felt an overwhelming urge to _cry_ or something equally embarrassing. Instead, he closed his eyes and buried his head in the crook of her neck mumbling, "I'd like to see you try." She chuckled, a soft, rich sound and it felt like a balm spread over his aching muscles. Maybe, if he hurried, she'd stay until he fell asleep and then maybe if he was lucky, the gunfire wouldn't come back.

But he couldn't sleep. Didn't want to, maybe. He listened to her breathing and knew that she was awake too, lying in the dark next to him, listening to his breaths too.

Finally, she said, "Who is the man in the picture on the mantle?"

He didn't ask which picture she was asking about. He was silent for a moment, then, "My brother, Peter." He could hear the creak of sadness in his own voice, and he tried to swallow it down. Generally, he tried not to think of Pete, shutting it away in a box and telling himself he'd open it later. "He died. In the war." She was quiet, but brushed her fingers over the back is his hand, letting him know she was listening if he wanted to talk. He didn't particularly, but being with her was so easy, so when he said, "I wasn't there, and I should have been," he hadn't realized that would be the first thing he had to say about Pete. He pressed his lips together. Now he definitely didn't feel like talking.

"Tell me a story about him."

He picked up her hand and started to trace it. The moonlight hinted at her pale skin and he touched each digit from finger pad to palm, stroking lightly. Her finger curled around and under his, then he entwined them.

"I hit him in the head with a cricket bat one time."

He could hear her answering smile.

"You did?"

"Yeah. On accident."

"Naturally. What did he do to you?"

"Nothing, he was too busy being unconscious," he chuckled lightly. "God, I's fuckin' terrified. I thought I'd killed him. My mother was furious." His words drifted away as he say tangled in memories of people he had loved.

"I always wanted a brother or a sister. I used to beg my parents, like they could get one from the store. They didn't think they could have kids at all."

"And then there was you."

"And then there was me. Miracle child."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Yeah." He closed his eyes and let himself fall.

* * *

When Alfie woke the next morning, Mabel's warmth had moved to the other side of the bed. He eased off the mattress and dressed quickly, trying not to wake her.

Stepping out of the bedroom he was assaulted by the delicious smells coming from the kitchen. Fuck. He'd completely forgotten about Rowena.

He thought about sneaking out and was headed to get his coat when she spotted him.

"Now just a minute, sir."

He flinched and turned to face her. She had her fists on her aproned hips, clutching a wooden spoon that he knew from experience she'd use in a heartbeat if she felt it warranted.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don ye 'yes, ma'am' me, ye get yerself in here right now."

"Yes, ma'am."

She turned in her heel and he followed her, sitting on a stool in the kitchen. He watched her move, making what looked to be a proper English breakfast. For multiple people.

He met her eyes. "I have to leave now."

She made a disapproving _tsk_ noise and turned back to the stove.

"But I'll be back."

"Ye better hope she's still here."

"Well, once she smells all this, who could leave?"

She grunted at him and waved her hand in dismissal. He smiled and grabbed a biscuit, pausing to kiss her cheek on the way out.

Alfie headed toward the hospital, intent on checking in with Abe, but the nurse said he was sleeping and couldn't be disturbed. Even Alfie's meanest scowl didn't change her mind, and he wondered if he was losing his touch.

He gave up and decided to head to the bakery when he caught sight of the man in the bed across the hall. It was Sabini's right-hand man, looking groggy and pale in his hospital gown. Alfie didn't hesitate. He entered the room and shut the door, then drew the pistol from his coat pocket. He drew back the hammer and leveled it at the man's head as the remaining color drained from his face.

"I wanted you to know that I could kill you, right now," he said with calm fury. "But I won't. I want you to wake up tomorrow and know I have allowed you to live and every day after that is Alfie Solomon's gift to you. But I want you to keep it in the back of your mind that I could return at any time and change my mind. So you don't fuck with her. Right? You don't. fuck. with. her. Or you and I are going to have a very uncomfortable conversation." He waited for a the barely perceptible nod from the man in the bed and uncocked his gun. "Give Sabini my love."

He turned to exit, and tipped his hat to the terrified nurse, frozen in the corner. "Ma'am."


	19. Chapter 19

Alfie considered stopping by the bakery, but changed his mind when he remembered Rowena's warning, that Mabel might not be there when he got back. He thought of the panic he'd felt when he'd seen her note and realized she'd gone out alone, hours after Sabini's arseholes had attacked her. He'd been furious at her for about ten seconds, then cold terror had flooded his brain and the sight of her at the mercy of Sabini's men repeated over and over in his head. Now, the confrontation with Sabini's right-hand man in the hospital and the fury of Abe's injury combined to give him a hardened sense of purpose. He made one more stop before heading home.

When he let himself in the front door, he could hear Rowena and Mabel's voices from the kitchen.

"Alfie! Did you have any of this?" Mabel crowed when she caught sight of him. "This woman is amazing, how do you not weigh 25 stones?" Mabel's laughing voice lifted the black mood he'd felt hovering around his senses. "Come on, I'll make you a plate," she said as she tugged him by the hand over to the overflowing table. She kept up a running chatter as she moved around, commenting on Rowena's cooking, the bathroom, the dress she'd already needed to clean, and he let it flood over him and wash away the grit in his mind from the previous day. He ate, and listened, and let his mind wander pleasantly. She had an extraordinary way of making him feel settled, like he'd already accomplished his goals for the day.

When he'd finished eating and she sat across the table from him looking at him expectantly, he said, "I bought you something." Her eyes brightened and he let Rowena take their plates away while he pulled her into the sitting room.

The box was old, scarred wood, ugly and squat amid the fine fabric of the sofa. She looked at him curiously, but settled it on her lap and let her fingers examine the outside quietly before opening the latch.

Her breath hitched as she caught sight of the metal inside, gleaming dully in the morning light. She studied the small gun with her eyes, then softly with her fingers. She didn't lift it, but raised her eyes to his, clearly trying to hide the apprehension that lay there. "I don't…" she started. "I don't know how," she confessed.

"I'll teach ya. 'S not hard." He reached inside the box and withdrew the small bundle of leather she'd overlooked. "This?" he said, picking up the gun, "goes here…" and slid it into the delicate holster. "And this…" he picked up the gun and holster, "goes here." His fingers grazed the outside of her thigh. "You wear it all the time, yeah?"

"Yeah, alright." She seemed a little shaken, but pressed her lips together determinedly. Alfie felt an odd squeeze somewhere in his chest, so he rose quickly and tugged her hand.

"Come on. There's a place that's not far."

They spent the rest of the morning in a field where Alfie made her practice drawing the gun from her new holster, underneath yards of fabric and even though she flushed with embarrassment, he made her keep repeating the movements until he was satisfied she could draw it quickly if needed. Then he taught her the parts of the gun, how to load and fire, and Mabel practiced until her cheeks were pink and her nose ran and finally she called it off because she couldn't feel her hands.

"Not bad, eh?" she smiled at him as she navigated her way back to the car, picking her way over the heaps and valleys of the field.

"Not bad?!" Alfie scowled at her. "O'course you're gonna do better than 'not bad' when I'm teachin' ya."

She chuckled. "I'd like to try again tomorrow." When Alfie hesitated, she added, "If that's alright."

"Course. Course it's fuckin' alright." Alfie's mind churned with the things he'd abandoned in favor of spending the day with her, and the things he needed to put in place tomorrow. With Mabel gone, the running of the bakery was taking over most of his days, and with the war on, he needed to be in front of his men. Normally he'd send Abe in his stead, but… He cut off his train of thought and focused on Mabel. "Jus' busy is all."

"Alfie, if there's anything I can do to help, I'd be happy to come in," she offered quietly.

Alfie looked her over from head to toe. Her dress was rumpled, there was color in her cheeks from the wind and cold and exertion of the day, and her hair was floating away from her pins, whipping in the breeze. She looked exhilarated. ' _And lovely,_ ' his mind supplied.

"Aww, now, what could a delicate lady such as yourself do in a place like that?"

She laughed, throwing her head back to the open sky. He answered her with a grin and helped her back into the car. On the drive back, she was quiet, fingers caressing the pearl hand grips of the undersized pistol in her lap. She didn't say anything until he'd pulled up in front of the house and shut off the car. Mabel leaned forward and kissed his scruffy cheek.

"Thank you. Again. I…there are not words for what I want to say to you."

"Mmph." He brushed off the sentiment, and made to climb out of the car.

"Alfie." Her voice stopped him and he turned back. She licked her lips, eyes on her lap. He waited. "I…" she started, then tried again. "The gun means a lot to me. I don't like being a victim, and I'm glad to have some way to stand on my own two feet. It's a very great gift you've given me, being able to protect myself. I value my independence more than you know."

Alfie gave her an annoyed, knowing look. There wasn't anyone on the planet more determined to be independent than the woman sitting next to him. If he were smarter, he'd keep her closer and uninformed, which is exactly what he'd do if he were trying to impress her with how much he could do for her. Women in the past had appreciated his power and reach, and he'd been proud of his ability to overwhelm and then override them. But Mabel was a creature he'd never encountered before, and while she was unknowable much of the time, her desire to do for herself was unmistakable. He was only sorry he hadn't gotten her the gun before Sabini had a chance to attack her.

"I know you think I'm ridiculous," she continued, "but I just need…I just _have_ to prove that I can do it by myself."

"Fuck," Alfie muttered. "'S not ridiculous." Alfie had been alone his entire life and had a few things to say about having to do it by yourself but he also understood that Mabel came from a different place, and had different hurdles to overcome. He brushed a thumb over her cheek, then gave into the impulse to kiss her lips, sweet and perfect. He had to be ok with letting her do it by herself. "If you're bored later, I've heard some very good things about you around the bakery. Come by and you can show me what you can do."

Mabel arched an eyebrow at him. "At the bakery? When we have this glorious bed right here?"

Alfie grinned, and let himself kiss her again. And again. And again.

* * *

The bakery bustled with an unfamiliar energy and Mabel soaked it in, like a plant that had gone too long without water. Alfie had brushed past her, face a furrow of concentration, on his way to his office, and she ignored him in favor of noting the small changes that had happened in her absence. Her desk was still there, and she gratefully fell into the routine of organizing the mess. It didn't take long for the floor to find out she was back, and somewhere between the jovial greetings and the needy demands, it was like she'd never left.

She navigated the dusty barrels and the darkened corners, smiling when she noticed the Harrington order gone and new charcoal barrels in their place. This place was a part of her, and she folded it back into her heart where it belonged.

When she went to Alfie's office to grab something, she noticed a very nervous Travers hovering at Alfie's elbow. She wondered at Alfie's choice of temporary Abe replacement. Travers was…well, when she tried to picture him threatening someone she almost giggled. It bothered her for some reason, Alfie surely knew what he was doing, but she felt an almost mother hen obligation to protect Travers. She rolled it around in her head the rest of the day. There were a few men at the bakery she would have picked before Travers, they fit Alfie's personality, they were smart, and they knew how to take orders. Chambers maybe, or Georgie. She cringed at the thought of losing one of them on her crew, but—suddenly Mabel remembered the pool they'd had going and wondered if Alfie had indeed managed to make someone wet themselves during one of his tongue lashings. If not, she wouldn't give Travers the rest of the week. She realized that Alfie tended to work with and promote the people he knew the best, and she wondered how well he knew everyone on the floor. She resolved to send Georgie and Chambers to Alfie's office more often to get them in front of him. Alfie was no fool, he'd recognize worth when he saw it.

At the end of the day, she packed up her desk and as she was turning off the lamp she remembered that she didn't have a place to live. She'd spent the last few nights at Alfie's, but her parents would lose their minds if they knew that. At the very least, she'd need to call them to let them know where she was staying. She sighed. At the rate she was going, no boarding house or hotel in London would take her on the probability of bloodshed. Well, there was nothing for it. She'd have to find something, and quickly. Hopefully Alfie would let her stay another night before she wore out her welcome. She was sure a man so used to living alone would be glad to have his space back to himself.

When she stopped by his office and heard him yelling into the telephone, she had already decided to beg a ride and ask to spend another night at his house while promising to find something tomorrow. She let herself into the small room, watching his furrowed face, the flick of his intelligent eyes, and the movement of his fingers as he rolled something between them. He saw her looking and threw it into the drawer, with a little more force than necessary and she felt like she'd intruded. Maybe this was a bad time to ask him for things. She checked the watch at her belt and knew that she still had time to get a cab and find a room at a hotel, if she left soon. She looked at Alfie once more, taking in the way he pointed at the empty air in front of him while he was talking and slammed his fist on the desk. His shoulders were tense, his eyes focused and he leaned forward unconsciously. His end of the conversation was terse, his words clipped and biting, even through the veil of nonchalance he usually employed. He'd been doing this all day, and with Abe gone, he'd been doing it alone. She felt the urge to hug him, to let him know that he wasn't alone. She walked behind him and laid her hand on his shoulder. The unmistakable flinch she felt made her worry that she'd overstepped, but he met her eyes and leaned back in his chair and she kept her hand there. She started to knead away the knots of tension in his neck and shoulders, taking her time and focusing solely on the muscles under her hands. He carried his stress in his shoulders, like her, and she tried to decide if anyone had ever done this for him before. She thought of the activities that she knew Alfie did in his down time, and decided he was probably at a high level of stress at all times. She knew he played poker and she'd heard he was a fairly good boxer, but she wondered if he did anything where he didn't feel like he needed to win at any cost.

He pulled her back to reality when he slammed the handset back on the hook and collapsed into the chair. "Fuck." He drug a hand down his face.

"Aww, poor baby. Bad day at work?" Mabel placed small kisses up the side of his neck and nuzzled his ear, reveling in the scent of him.

"Pssh," he said, but he leaned his head to give her better access. "Let's go home."

She paused, and he seemed to realize what he'd said. She gave him a final kiss and moved around so she could see his face.

"I was going to ask you about that," she said. This felt like a conversational minefield. She couldn't read his face, so she plowed ahead. "I know you probably want your space back, and I was planning on looking for something tomorrow. But I can get something else for tonight if you'd prefer…" Mabel trailed off, not daring to meet his eyes.

He didn't say anything. She had been hoping he'd say something, give her an idea of where they stood. But he just squinted at her and waited.

"I mean, I'd like to stay, it's just that my parents are going to want to know where I am at some point, and, well, Rowena's been very understanding about the circumstances but not everyone would be and I wouldn't—"

"Rowena's been understanding because she'd like you to stay forever."

Mabel's eyes snapped to his, knowing he had deliberately laid a mine at her feet and horrified she would misstep.

"Mabe." Alfie took her hand and Mabel clenched her jaw to keep the self-conscious nervous blabber that was clawing its way up from her churning stomach from spilling out. The way he'd said, 'Mabe', didn't sound positive.

He looked almost apologetic as he said, "My life is—"

"I know." She couldn't stop it and she was desperate to keep him from continuing. She wasn't exactly sure what he was going to say, but she couldn't listen to him deem her unworthy. She just didn't think she could bear that right now. "I know that you don't want…that. It doesn't make sense for you. And that's ok," she hastened to assure him. "I mean, I understand, truly I do. And I have plans for my life too. But Alfie…you're not alone. I want to stand beside you, help you if I can. I meant it, I'm not going anywhere." She faltered, then held her breath.

Alfie kissed her, hard and slicing, his kiss all teeth and fear and need that he couldn't voice. "Mabe," he confessed, "I'm no good at this. I didn't think Sabini would even find out about you—us, so soon. I didn't want to put you through any of this and this doesn't have to be your life. If you want to be done with this, I don't blame you and I can get you out of the city. But I need to know you understand that otherwise, if you stay? You're in this now. You've got a target on your back and you can either prepare for it, or get as far away from the shots as you can, yeah?"

Mabel smiled softly. "I was in it a long time ago. Hell, I came back to it. I know you and I'm not stupid, and I'd rather face the shots together. Yeah?"

Alfie leaned back, his sharp eyes studying her, flicking back and forth over her face. "Come with me," he finally said. "There's someone I want you to see."

When they got to the hospital, Abe was awake and looked bored out of his skull. He was glad to see them, and Mabel fussed at him for a while. He asked Alfie about Sabini, but Alfie told him to rest and let Alfie worry for a change. Abe snorted, but answered Mabel's questions and before they left asked them, shyly, if they would let his mother know he was ok. Finally the very handsome doctor shooed them from the room and Mabel raised her eyebrows at Abe and he glared back. She grinned and waved and headed out the door, Alfie's hand on the small of her back. At the last minute, he said he needed to tell Abe one more thing, so she chatted with the night nurse, a burly woman who reminded her fondly of her Nan. Mabel teased her about making sure to take extra good care of Abe, and she pretended to be offended that anyone would think differently. It turned out that she grew up not far from Lincoln, but had settled in London after the war. Mabel was impressed with the battle hardened woman in front of her, and grateful she would be the one to watch over Abe. Then Alfie returned, and the nurse glared daggers at him until they left.

As they headed for the car, Mabel smirked at Alfie. "I know what you're trying to do, but you don't scare me, Alfie Solomons. You think I don't know what's at stake? But thank you for bringing me, I've been wanting to see Abe anyway. Warn me next time though, yeah? I wanted to bring him something to take his mind off of things until he gets out."

Alfie frowned. "He's getting out. The sooner the better."

"What? But you heard him, the doctor said it'll take at least—"

"Sabini's right-hand man is across the hall."

"Oh."

"And I threatened him."

"Ah, that changes things." She pondered for a moment. "Well, can he leave now? I can help carry him and we can drop him at a hotel. I could get a room there too and keep an eye on him until he can hold a gun."

Alfie's eyes twinkled and he quirked an eyebrow at her.

"What?"

He opened the car door and revealed Abe in the back, grimacing and clutching his arm to his chest, but upright and steady.

"You're a wonderful distraction, love."

It was Mabel's turn to grunt, "Mmph," and she climbed in.


	20. Chapter 20

AN: Thanks for hanging with me, guys! Enjoy!

* * *

Mabel's hotel room was down the hall from Abe's and she helped him up the stairs and get settled in. She tucked blankets around him and puttered around the room.

"I'll check on you in the morning before I go to work and then right after I get back. Will you be ok while I'm gone during the day? Should I send someone to check on you? I should send someone to check on you. Just a second and I'll run down to the front desk."

"No, don't, I'll be fine. You don't have to check on me." Abe's grimace of pain didn't stop his eyes from drooping and she snorted.

"I bloody well will, you can't even keep your eyes open. Do you need anything? When was the last time you had pain medication?"

"'m fine, don't check on me. And I don't know. But 'm fine, doesn't even hurt," he said breathlessly.

"Uh huh. Alright, but then I need a favor."

Abe's eyes fluttered open, concern crossing his features. "Course, you ok?"

Mabel chuckled. "Yeah, I'm fine. But I was hoping you could teach me how to play cards."

"Cards." Abe's face was blank as if he'd forgotten the meaning of the word.

"Yeah, you know, cards? I've never learned, my parents didn't approve. But I'm in the big, bad city anyway…and if I happen to bring you some aspirin and change your bandages and make sure you don't get an infection while I'm learning, well, we can call it even. What do you say?"

A smile ghosted over Abe's face. He nodded once before laying his head back and was asleep within seconds. She closed his door quietly and decided she'd better keep her word. She headed downstairs to use the hotel's phone to contact Abe's mum. Mabel wasn't looking forward to the call, mostly because she wasn't sure how to explain what had happened, or how his mum would react. She didn't know anything about Abe's mum, in fact, all she had was a slip of paper with a hastily scribbled telephone number and a name—Ruth. Mabel steeled herself for the worst and dialed.

 _"Hello?"_ an older woman's voice answered.

"Hello, is this Ruth, Abe's mother?"

There was a long pause, and Mabel was about the check the connection when the woman said suspiciously, _"Who is this?"_

"Hello, my name is Mabel Ziemann, I work with your son Abe? Well, I'm his friend."

Then Mabel had a horrible flash of Ruth reading into the term 'friend'.

"I mean," Mabel hastened to add, "I'm his boss."

This wasn't coming out right. She tried again.

"I'm the foreman at the—"

 _"What do you want?"_

"Abe asked me to call you." She took a deep breath and rushed out, "He's going to be unavailable for the next few days, we need him at work, but he wanted me to let you know not to worry."

 _"Why would I be worried about that? Why did he ask you to call me to tell me that?"_

Mabel felt the same flare of panic she felt anytime she tried to lie to her own mother. Abe owed her for this. "Oh, no reason. He just wanted you to be kept informed."

 _"Kept informed."_ She didn't sound convinced.

"Yes! Well, ok, that's all I wanted to say, so it was lovely talking to you, goodnight!" Mabel hung up before Ruth could reply. She glared in the direction of Abe's room and crossed her fingers that he would be at least a little better in a few days so he could deal with his mother himself.

Mabel drug herself up to her room, suddenly feeling defeated. She flopped herself on the bed and stared at the cracked ceiling and wondered how long it would be before Abe could raise his arm high enough to aim a gun. She wondered, had they had transferred Abe to the hotel soon enough to deter any attacks that might be headed their way? Was Sabini going to be able to track them down? She and Abe had used fake names to rent the rooms, but Alfie was too recognizable and had stayed in the car. She clenched her eyes shut, hoping and praying that it would be enough. Worry gnawed at her gut and she couldn't sit still any longer. She pushed herself up from the bed, intent on her favorite form of therapy: taking a walk. But as she reached for the door handle, she remembered they were hiding, and it would do no good to go wandering around Camden in the dark for the sole purpose of making herself feel better. She forced her hands to her sides to still them and herself, but her fingertips grazed the thick folds of her skirt and she felt the holster concealed underneath. She spent an hour practicing drawing the gun, then when her arm ached from the repetition she got ready for bed and practiced loading and unloading her pistol until her fingers moved of their own accord and the bullets no longer felt foreign in her hands.

Eventually, she slept, fitfully, and when she woke up sweating and panting from a dream where she was being chased, she wasn't surprised. As she waited for her heart rate to slow, her mind felt clunky and she was grumpy. She knew she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, even though the sun was only just beginning to stain the sky with light. She counted the hours since they'd absconded with Abe and decided to see if he was awake. He was, only just, and from the look on his face when he answered her knock, it was because he was in pain. She convinced him to take some aspirin and propped him up in the bed, adjusting pillows and fussing until he suggested they start a game of cards.

A few hands later, Mabel was decidedly less groggy, but her mood wasn't improved when she found out she was rubbish at poker. She glared at Abe peeking at his cards one-handed and upping the ante by two more toothpicks. She set her cards down on the bed.

"I have an idea, let's stop playing cards and I'll poke at your open wound."

Abe lifted an eyebrow but allowed her to change his bandages. She inspected the damage before reminding herself that she had no idea what she was looking for and finished wrapping him up as best she could. It wasn't as neat as the nurses had managed, but it would do. Daylight was peeking over the window sill and she knew she'd need to head into the bakery soon. She briefly considered contacting one of the nurses that had helped them before but dismissed it as too dangerous, for the nurses as well as she and Abe. She chewed her lip, trying to decide.

"Abe, here. I want you to keep this until I get back." She drew the gun from the holster on her thigh, turning so she wouldn't embarrass Abe, and presenting it to him.

He looked at her with a muted horror in his eyes. "Absolutely not. I'm not going to take your gun, you keep it."

"Abe, don't be silly. You're the one who is at the most risk, you're the one that they'd come after first and you're the one who would be least able to defend yourself without a gun. You need it more than I do."

"I'm not being silly, and I'm not taking that. You're the one that was actually attacked by Sabini. I just got in the way of an already-fired bullet."

Mabel stilled. Something about the way he said that drew her eyebrows together. "What? Wait, what do you mean?"

Abe shrugged his uninjured shoulder minutely, eyes on the duvet.

"Abe. Tell me you didn't step in front of that already-fired bullet on purpose."

Abe semi-shrugged again. "Better me than him," he said quietly, raising his eyes to hers.

Mabel's breath caught in her throat. There was no question as to who the "him" was, and she felt stunned as she realized how close she'd come to not having him walk back into that bakery. Slowly, gently, she leaned forward and hugged Abe, gathering him as close as she dared without hurting him and trying to force back the threatening tears. She remembered that night, thanking whatever forces allowed him to come back to her, and now she was sitting in a shite hotel room hugging that force while she made him take aspirin and play cards.

"Oh, Abe," she breathed. "Thank you."

He chuckled awkwardly and patted her with his good hand. She realized she was making him self-conscious and forced herself to pull back, although she was fairly sure he deserved to be hugged every second for the rest of his natural life.

She sniffled a tiny bit and gave him a watery smile. "I am going to find the sexiest doctor in London and send him round to check on you." He smiled at her, wide and genuine.

"Uh huh. Just take the gun with you."

"Aaaaaabe…" Mabel whined.

"Now stop it. You know Alfie would kill me himself if he found out I'd taken your only means of protection to clutch while I hide in under the bedcovers. You'll be out and about, and if Alfie is concerned, he knows where I am."

When he said it like that, she reluctantly agreed he had a point.

"Uuuuuuuugggggh, fine. Be that way. I'm going to go," she said, dropping a quick kiss on his forehead (no fever, good), "and head to the bakery. Do you need anything before I go? Can I bring something back for you?"

"Bring me any news you hear, I'd be much obliged."

"Only if we get to play a different sodding card game next time," she said with a wink and headed out the door.

Mabel had been at the bakery a total of five minutes when Travers came scurrying over to her and said that Mr. Solomons would like to see her. She could hear Alfie screaming through the open office door. "I'll handle it, Travers. Why don't you hide in the back for a little while, maybe he'll forget you're here."

"Yeah? You think?"

 _"Not bloody likely,"_ she thought, but anything was possible.

"Sure. He'll ease up eventually, don't worry," she said out loud and headed towards the screaming.

She entered his office just as he was throwing the telephone handset across the desk and closed the door behind her. The handset swung slightly, suspended by the cord off the edge of the desk and dangling pathetically. He glared at her automatically but before he could open his mouth to rant, she cut in.

"Are your ribs healed yet?" she asked innocently.

Alfie blinked, clearly thrown. "What? My ribs? Why?"

"Because I want to know how hard I have to hit you to get you to stop bloody yelling at me."

Alfie blinked again. Then a smile twitched at his lips, which he struggled to hide. So Mabel smiled for him. As she beamed at him sunnily, he crossed his arms and sat on the edge of his desk, lips curling involuntarily. He gestured at the chair for her to sit.

"Abe is doing well."

"Uh. Good. That's…that's good."

Mabel looked at him curiously. "What did you need?"

Alfie settled himself against the desk, folding his fingers together. "This isn't about what I need. It's about what you need."

Mabel arched an eyebrow at him.

"You're going to ask me for a loan."

Now it was Mabel's turn to blink at him. "A loan?"

Alfie leaned back and crossed his arms. "Why Ms. Ziemann, that's a fuckin' brilliant idea, wish I'd thought of it. I'd be happy to give you a loan, thanks for asking."

Mabel bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. "What do I need a loan for?"

"Well, it's a bit unorthodox to ask for a loan and not know how you want to spend the money, yeah?"

"Okay..." Mabel stretched the word out. "How much am I borrowing?"

"I'll say a substantial amount." Alfie was clearly enjoying himself.

"And what am I going to do with the substantial amount of money I get from you?"

"Right, that's simple. You're going to give it to me."

Mabel huffed out a breath of confusion and annoyance. "Ok, I'll bite. What are you talking about?"

"You're going to buy my bakery."

The words floated silently between them for eons. Then Mabel's heart started beating again and her eyelids blinked rapidly and she drew in a shaky breath. Loathe to say the single word that reverberated in her skull, she looked at him and waited.

Finally, he couldn't contain his grin any longer. He beamed at her, reveling in her expression. Then he sobered, planted his hands on the desk and met her hopeful eyes.

"Mabel. My bakery is about one-tenth of my income. The last few weeks have taken up a fuckin' disproportionate amount of my time. But fuck if I'm gonna sell it to some rich wanker who doesn't know what the fuck he's doin'. Right, so. Here's what we're gonna do."

Mabel allowed herself to feel a thread of excitement. She smirked and crossed her legs, settling back.

"You're gonna hand the day-to-day, managing, shipping orders…" he waved his hand descriptively. "I'm gonna provide you protection, supply routes, handle the muscle if you need it, and you, of course, will compensate me generously. It's actually fuckin' exorbitant, you should really talk to someone about that."

Mabel shook her head and smiled.

"You get to pick your own crew, o'course, fire every single bastard in here if you want. But I get Abe."

"You sure? He's kind of a whinging baby right now. And a bloody awful poker player. I really don't know what you see in him."

"Right, no chance, he's still mine. You can have Travers though, fuck, he's like a kicked puppy. I'll just…make due until Abe's back on his feet."

"Ugh, I can't believe you're making me…ok, either Georgie or Chambers would be a perfect replacement-Abe, but I want them back when you're done. And if I find out you're kicking my puppies, I'm going to have something to say about it."

"God, you're terrifying. I take back my offer of protection, you won't need it."

"Fuck off," she smiled at him.

"See?" he grinned back at her. "You're gonna be perfect at this."

Mabel felt her throat constrict and she struggled to control the flood of emotions tumbling about inside her. He was handing her the dream she'd been chasing for years like it wasn't something that tilted the world on its axis. And he was smiling and saying words like 'perfect' while he did it.

"Alfie, I...I don't know what to say."

"Except?" he teased.

"Except..." Mabel pretended to think about it. "Get off of my desk?"

Alfie's face dropped and he scowled. "You're not bloody funny."

She couldn't stop the grin that took over and she launched herself at him, kissing every inch of his scruffy face she could reach.

" _You're_ perfect. I'm going to make you so proud, you watch," she said in between her rapid kisses.

"Course you fuckin' will. Won't be hard," he said as he tried to catch her lips and finally stilled her face between his warm, dry palms. He held her so he could look her in the eye. "You already do."

She captured his mouth with her own, kissing him and kissing him and ignoring the tears that snuck out from under her lids. She was deliriously, perfectly happy and as she pulled back to see the crinkle beside his eyes and the confidence beaming off him she decided, _"This. This moment. I want to live in this moment."_ Then she kissed him again.

* * *

Epilogue:

Alfie slammed into the office and headed straight for the liquor cart, his face like thunder. Mabel quirked an eyebrow at him but said nothing as he downed a glass of her finest rum without tasting it.

"Fuckin' hell," he said as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Bad day, was it?" She shuffled papers and made a few notes before giving him her full attention.

"Mmph."

"Everything alright?"

He poured another glass before answering her "I swear to God if I have to deal with Tommy fuckin' Shelby one more time… See, if you see a fuckin' nail, you hit it with a fuckin' hammer, yeah? You don't talk to it until it works its own way into the fuckin' board. I'm fuckin' done, honest. I'm giving it all up. You're in control now."

"That's not what you said last night," she said, her eyes twinkling.

He turned to her, his eyes sharp on hers. He gave her his best scowl, which was ruined by the way his lips twitched and he finally gave into the chuckle she usually managed to work out of him.

"Right. I stay to fight another day, I guess."

She nodded to the glass in his hand. "What do you think?"

"Oh, this? I already took a barrel with me when I was in yesterday. It's in my cellar."

"You what!?"

Alfie covered his smug smile by taking another sip.

"Alfie Solomons, you right bastard! Do you know how much that is worth?! A _barrel_?! Why didn't anyone tell me? Don't answer that," she huffed out at his answering smirk.

He moved to stand behind her and set the glass on the desk before running his hands over the tight cords in her shoulders. His lips found her ear and he rumbled, "Mmm. You can just call it my birthday present."

She snorted. "A whole barrel!" but she stopped protesting as he nuzzled his way down her neck and found that spot below her ear that sent goosebumps down her arms and made her eyelids drift closed. "Mmph. I'm not giving you the present that I actually got you then."

"No? And what's that then?"

But Mabel was stopped from answering by a loud rumble coming from outside the bakery. Alfie tensed, then moved quickly to the door, drawing his gun as he walked. He cracked the door, then moved stealthily out and down the dusty hallway, eyes sweeping the familiar shadows. He barely registered Mabel's presence behind him, only acknowledging her as she crouched next to him, behind cover and out of his line of sight. She learned quickly.

"What do you think it is?" she breathed anxiously.

Alfie frowned, his mind whirring and unease settling in his stomach. Something was definitely wrong. He hadn't gotten wind of any trouble like this brewing and he paid good money for information like this. He was missing something and he hated that feeling. He could hear shouting outside, but couldn't make out individual voices. The rumble had gotten louder, and closer, an engine big enough to rattle the window panes. Almost like a...

Alfie whipped around to look at Mabel and saw that she was grinning at him. She rose and held out her hand, her smile widening as she pulled him to his feet. His body wasn't so sure about dropping the tight spiral it had been building up to, but he allowed himself to be drug out the bay doors and into the yard. She stood next to him, one hand lifted to shield her eyes from the flying dust and her skirts whipping around her ankles as an honest-to-God tank rolled up outside the bakery. Alfie realized his mouth was gaping and struggled to close it. He looked at Mabel, astonishment in his eyes.

"You bought me a tank."

She laughed, pearls of sound echoing around the yard. "I did."

"You...you bought me...a tank," Alfie stammered again, amazement and wonder clouding his voice.

She grinned and grasped his face between her palms. "Happy birthday, love."

Alfie grinned and kissed her. Then he wrapped his arms around her middle and spun her once, and he let out a rumble of laughter that reverberated in her soul.

 _Fin._


	21. DIY Happiness

A/N: What started out as an "I'd like to ease myself back into writing" epilogue, turned into a sequel. Hope you like it! And I want you lovely folks to know that it's the kind reviews I've received on this story that encouraged me to keep going, so don't stop leaving reviews for hopeless writers like myself! It inspires more than you know.

* * *

DIY Happiness

Mabel heard Alfie at the front door and held her breath. Abe had told her before she'd left for the day that she might want to make herself scarce tonight. Apparently, it had been a bad run-in with the Shelbys and he was in a black mood.

"Screaming his fool head off, huh?" she teased. But Abe didn't laugh. He looked...grim.

"No. He's not saying anything, actually." Abe slowly replaced his hat and let himself out of her office, his eyes on the floor. Mabel frowned. Alfie was dangerous when he was silent, and she wondered if maybe she should put off her plans for the evening. She'd decided against it, but now she worried the fabric of her dress between her fingers and hoped it was the right decision. She rose from the sofa, and the puppy she'd been playing with bounded down and raced to greet the stranger at the door.

Alfie's blank mask blinked into a look of surprise, then was quickly replaced with a fierce scowl. "Well, what do we have here?" he growled, bending down to scratch the pup, with a softer touch than his voice suggested. The puppy squirmed with delight and tried to lick every scrap of skin she could reach. Alfie's face softened, almost against his will. "Hello, love, where the hell did you come from?" he said quietly. He picked up the tiny, caramel-coated pit bull puppy and nestled it into the crook of his arm. His eyes sought Mabel's, hard and questioning. "What is this?" His voice was flinty and unflinching.

"She was going to be put down. The owner said he couldn't handle so many puppies and she was the smallest, so she was going to go first..." Mabel felt herself babbling and forced herself to stop. "But she's healthy...and she's just a little bit sassy." She swallowed and offered him a tiny smile. "Do you like her?" She bit her lip, hoping he wouldn't mind too much that she'd expanded their tiny family without asking and added responsibilities onto his already full plate, not to mention hers as well.

"Doesn't seem to matter what I like or don't like, yeah?"

Mabel felt her heart sink.

His gruff voice was focused on the pup in his arm, running his fingers over velvety ears as a tiny tongue tried to lick his wrist. "What's her name?"

"She doesn't have one. Yet." Mabel held her breath again.

Alfie frowned again, his mask firmly back in place. Mabel could usually read him, at least enough to know when to cut and run, but she wasn't sure what was going on in his head now. Maybe she should have asked Abe more about the Shelby meeting. Maybe she should have waited to see how he was doing before-

"Peaches," he said and, finally, his lip quirked up, his smile small, tentative and fragile. She smiled back, relieved. He kissed the pup's head and carried her off towards the kitchen, murmuring nonsense against her fur. In the doorway, he paused, his head still bent to the puppy's. "Mmph. I agree," she heard him grumble. He turned and walked to where she was still standing in the living room, the fabric of her skirt caught unconsciously in between her fingertips. Alfie slipped his free hand around her waist to press against the small of her back, his fingers splayed wide. He pressed his lips to her forehead and held her there for a moment, the puppy, Peaches, squirming between them. Then Mabel felt his shoulders relax a bit and she smiled, her eyelids slipping shut. She was glad she hadn't waited because even that grumpy bastard couldn't resist a wriggly puppy. She watched him carry the puppy into the kitchen and putter around getting a bowl for Peaches and tearing pieces of the meal Rowena had left out for him into it, his low rumble never stopping. His voice calmed the puppy and she watched him, her ears at rapt attention. Mabel grinned, unable to stop the joy spreading from ear to ear. He was on the floor of the kitchen, still wearing his hat and his greatcoat, the puppy's tail wiggling her entire back end as she jumped on him, tongue lolling.

 _"Nope, it's this moment. This is the one I want to live in forever,"_ she thought.

Best birthday gift yet.


	22. DIY Togetherness

Mabel took the sleepy puppy from Alfie's lap and pulled his hand until he stood up. His scowl deepened, and he grunted with the effort, but he came willingly enough. She led him to the kitchen, where she'd placed a small crate in the corner by the stove and lined it with rags. It would be warm there, even on the coldest days and she set Peaches carefully on the cosy rags, who woke sleepily and started to whine, quiet and pitiful.

"Now, Mabel, can't we-" Alfie began, his loud voice startling in the muted room.

"Shh, shh, shh." Mabel pressed a finger to his lips, her mouth turned into a soft smile. She removed Alfie's braces, and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his over shirt, enough to pull it over his head. He raised an eyebrow with a questioning smirk, but Mable just turned away from him and placed the fabric in the crate with Peaches. The pup immediately quieted, turned a few circles, and settled in the tiny Alfie-scented cocoon she'd made for herself. They both smiled at her yawn, Mabel widely and Alfie behind his moustache when he thought Mabel didn't see.

Mabel took his hand and pulled him with her again. She tended to have better results when she didn't explain what she was doing beforehand. She pulled him into the bathroom and shut the door so the steam wouldn't get out. She'd run a bath for him, skipping over the usual oils that she used in her own, the ones Alfie had bought for her from God-knows-where and spending God-knows-how-much on them, the ones that smelled like a warm, plump, juicy, summer day and transformed this beautiful room into her sanctuary. But she knew he'd tell her he didn't want that "frou-frou bullshit" in his bath water, which made her grin because she loved the way he inhaled her whenever she used it. She couldn't tell which one of them liked it more, actually.

Instead, she watched him eye the clear, steamy water and she finished undressing him. She dropped a few kisses on his warm skin, when she couldn't help herself, then she pushed him into the tub and pressed the grey, gritty lump of soap he usually used into his hand. He focused far too hard on lathering soap into his skin, scowling at the water and she undressed down to her chemise, a soft pink this time. She perched on the edge of the tub, slightly behind him and took the soap from his hand. She soaped his back, her fingers making strong circles in the suds, massaging out the tension there under the guise of "washing" him. Then she wet his hair and ran the bar of soap there too, her fingers working the lather in until she heard his soft sigh and saw his eyes slip closed. She massaged a little longer, just touching now, and quietly whispered, "Tell me."

"Mmph," Alfie grunted, his eyes still closed, his mouth still frowning. He was quiet for a few moments more, so she used the ewer next to the tub to rinse his hair and torso free of soap, then she moved and perched on the other side and faced him. She stroked his too-long beard, her fingers smoothing and combing hair away from his mouth, gently checking for damage and finding a fist-sized swelling, which she ghosted a kiss over. "Tell me," she said again, less room for argument this time.

Alfie sighed, his eyes still closed. He leant his head into hers, pressing almost too hard-she knew it must hurt where he'd been hit. He grunted, "Georgie's dead."

Ice water dumped in her veins, and she froze. "Oh, god," gasped out of her before she could stop it. She felt him stiffen and she surged forward, clinging to him, pulling his head against her and burying her fingers in his hair. She held on, feeling the droplets from his hair and face dampen her chemise and not caring the tiniest bit. She felt his shaky hand rise out of the water to skate over her thigh and hip, and settle on her waist, his face hidden in her breasts, his breath gusting out harshly.

"I'm so sorry, Alfie," she whispered into his hair, her eyes shut tight against the tears she couldn't bear to let him see. He felt awful, it was obvious, he didn't need to comfort her too. She swallowed hard, then pulled back to look into his stormy eyes. He opened them reluctantly, and she saw the pain there, the pain he didn't let anyone else see. The pain of losing someone he trusted, a comfortable and competent ally, and a friend. "Oh, Alfie," she said, her heart breaking for him, "I'm so sorry."

"'S nothin'," he gritted out. "'S my fault, anyway. Nothin' for you to be sorry for."

"Of course it wasn't your fault!" Mabel cried indignantly. "Did you kill him?" At his silent scowl she continued, "Of course you didn't, so it's not your fault."

He was silent, his eyes were distant, and he was closing himself off. Mabel could _see_ it. She could see the walls shuttering down, compartmentalising, terminating his feelings-never to be discussed again. And suddenly she just couldn't let it happen again. She had him, right there, letting her in and letting her see how much he cared, and she just couldn't let it go yet. She gripped his chin, hard.

"NO."

He blinked, confused, and tried to pull back but she gripped him harder. "This is not your fault, Alfie Solomons. You stop it right now. I want you to tell me that you know it's not your fault."

He smiled at her sadly, but he stayed where she'd put him. "Oh, love," he sighed. "'S too late for all that. I'm far past redemption."

She kissed him, her mouth a hard, determined line. "Not mine."

She kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, brutally, hard and slicing, nipping until finally, he pushed back, fast, his wet hands surging out of the water to grip her hips and pull her into the tub, neither of them noticing the wave of water over the side. She moaned into the kiss as he swept in with his tongue, capturing her mouth while his hands devoured every inch of her skin. Her chemise was soaked in seconds and he just rubbed his wide hands over her sides, breasts, down her back and over the swell of her bum, pulling her knees on either side of him and locking her in place with his palms.

Alfie didn't give her a chance to change her mind about bathtub sex as his hands devoured her greedily. Her pink chemise clung to her, gathered up at the top of her thighs, the wet fabric transparent with the water. Her nipples were straining against the wet fabric, aching to be touched. She surged against his mouth, pulling him closer, rocking against his hard body. She could feel his erection against her and he ground his hips upwards making them both gasp. She struggled against him, with him, trying to remove her last scrap of clothing, before giving up and capturing his face between her hands again and kissing him, hot and open-mouthed. She sucked on his tongue when he thrust it into her mouth and he groaned. He buried his hands in her dark hair, knocking pins loose until the curls cascaded down her back, and she kissed him like she'd never see him again. Then he pushed the chemise up over her hips, the cloth bunching under his fingertips, baring her stomach and then her breasts. Then he broke the kiss to lift it over her arms and off, depositing it in a heap on the wet floor. He looked over her, admiring what he saw, dusky nipples and flushed skin. He leaned down and her eyes closed in anticipation.

 _"Yes, finally,"_ she thought, her nipples hardening further. She felt his warm breath ghost over them and she shivered, waiting. Then she waited some more. After a few seconds, she cracked an eyelid to find out what was taking so long and saw him staring up at her, grinning, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. She looked at herself, arching her breasts towards his mouth wantonly, biting her lip in anticipation, head thrown back and eyes closed, and she blushed furiously.

"You arse," she said, pushing at his shoulder. He chuckled, but then granted her wish, capturing a nipple in his teeth and his flicking tongue brought her right back to where she was, aching and wanting and rocking against him, in no time at all.

She wanted this man, always. She wanted him against her and behind her and inside her and every way she could get him. She wanted to make him come apart under her, ride him until he begged her, make him spill his seed before he was ready because she was just that good. She wanted him to bring her off with his fingers, his tongue, his cock, and then lick her up and do it all again.

She reached down between them to grasp his firm shaft and slip it home. She stroked him at the same time she slid down his length, but in the narrow bathtub, she couldn't get her knees wide enough to take him in all the way. She rocked forward on the first few inches of him, gasping as he pressed against her just right.

"Ah, fuck, woman," Alfie groaned, a pained look on his face.

"Oh, _oh,_ Alfie," she breathed, "oh, you could make me come just like this." Her brain was skittering off the rails as she spiraled higher and higher, straining against him as she sought her own pleasure.

Alfie _growled_ , and he pushed up against the sides of the bath, lifting them both until she had to put her feet down or risk falling. She stood blinking, her mind a little fuzzy, and Alfie stepped out of the bath into the deluge of water on the floor and pulled her along behind him. He swiped a towel perfunctorily and ineffectively over both of them before gathering her up and kissing her again and again, harder and faster.

"I fucking want to _fuck_ you, woman," he gritted out, and backed her down the hall to the bedroom. They both shivered in the chilled air, but with hands swiping at water droplets and skin, when he lowered her to the bed and pounced on her, she already felt overheated.

He knelt over her, not wasting a second, pulling her hips where he wanted them. His fingers explored her folds, dipping inside her and making her moan and he rubbed her with his thumb. When he had her whimpering, he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his cock, driving into her hard and deep.

"Gnngh," he groaned, "you feel so fucking good." He pistoned into her, his strokes long and steady and fast. "'M gonna make you feel so fucking good."

He _hammered_ into her, and her hips surged to meet his, matching him thrust for thrust, her ankles hooked around his thighs, her knees spread wide. "Oh, oh, oh FUCK ALFIE! Oh fuck, oh _GOD!_ Alfie...A..."

She couldn't stop the small scream that rolled out as her orgasm crashed around her, his hips never stopping. She clutched his back and held on, as wave after wave made her see stars. She clenched around him, even as he withdrew and wrapped his hand around himself to spill on her belly. The sight of him above her, groaning as he came, was glorious. " _Oh, fuck, this man is gorgeous,"_ she thought, again, the way she did every time she saw him naked. He flopped down beside her and she stared at the ceiling, her entire body singing, and counted her blessings. Her breathing finally slowed and she looked down at the mess he'd left and her lip curled in distaste, but only at the thought of getting up. She knew it was probably gross, and definitely something proper ladies didn't enjoy, but she didn't care. She liked having him all over her, and, she realized, he probably knew it. Mabel rolled her eyes at herself and got up to clean up. She dropped a few towels down in the bathroom over the worst of the puddles and promised herself she'd do something about it later. For now, though, she had a warm and sleepy Alfie on her hands, and she _cherished_ these moments, hoarded them like a miser, really. So when she got back to bed and Alfie was laying on his stomach with his arms wrapped around a pillow, Mabel crawled in beside him, threw her leg over the backs of his thighs, and snuggled in beside him. His head was turned away from her and he could have been asleep, but she knew better. She traced delicate circles on his shoulders, desperate to keep touching him. He still smelled like soap.

"I'm sorry about Georgie," she said quietly. "Are you going to sit shiva for him?"

Alfie sighed softly through his nose. "He's got a mum in Stratford. I'm not sure if I'd be welcome."

Mabel knew he'd go no matter what because Alfie Solomons was a right bastard, but he was the kind of bastard that made sure grieving mothers received large anonymous sums of money when their sons died in his service.

"Well, whatever you decide, let me know and I can take over for you here." Mabel pressed a kiss to his over-warm skin.

"Be nice if you could be there with me too," Alfie murmured.

Mabel froze, her lips still on Alfie's shoulder. His words made her heart ache, the casual way he wanted her at his side opened a chasm of longing she wasn't aware had existed inside her. She loved being wanted by this man.

"Seems like I might need two of you," Alfie said, turning towards her with a grin. "You sure you don't have a sister?"

Mabel opened her mouth and bit him on the shoulder.

"Oi!" Alfie chuckled. "Just one sister! Come on now!"

Mabel crawled on top of him, running her teeth over his neck and her fingers over his ribs. He squirmed, doing his best not to laugh and tried to buck her off, but she straddled his arse and held on.

"Not a chance, Mr Solomons." She ran her teeth along his ear. "You're mine." She nipped softly at his earlobe and let her hips roll, just a bit. "All of you."

"'S'at so?" His voice was lower suddenly, gravelly, sexy. She felt it slide down her belly and pool there, warm and tingling. She stretched out along his bigger body, lean and sensual, running her arms along his until she could grasp his hands in hers.

"Damn right," she husked in his ear, and he leant back to capture her mouth with his.

* * *

They jerked awake the next morning to the loud clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen. Mabel groaned and buried her face in the pillow as Alfie untangled their limbs and rolled out of bed, a secret smile on his face.

"Why, Alfie, why?" Mabel moaned from where she'd re-buried herself in the blankets. "Every damn time I stay over, I swear to god..."

"Ah," Alfie scoffed, pulling on his trousers "it's not every time."

Mabel unearthed herself from the mound of pillows to glare at him. "It IS. And you know it. And I don't know who kept me up more last night, you or the damn dog, but I think I got five minutes of sleep."

Alfie's low chuckle warmed her to her toes. "You're welcome, love," he said, grabbing her foot and giving it a squeeze and then following it up her leg to squeeze her bum too.

"Oi!" she squeaked. "Now don't start that again."

Alfie cocked an eyebrow at her and she felt herself grinning in spite of the barely daylight time of day. That is, until there was another loud volley of clanging from the kitchen. Mabel scowled and Alfie sighed, buttoning his shirt and pulling on his braces.

"I'll talk to her, yeah?"

"Mmph," Mabel grunted, and buried herself in the blankets again just for spite, even though she knew she'd be getting up anyway. She knew he wasn't going to. Or maybe he would, but it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference. The salty housekeeper just was not interested in being friends with Mabel, no matter how hard she tried. She'd been every kind of polite she knew how to be, which was intense and would have made her mother proud. But whenever she stayed the night, which wasn't nearly as often as she liked, she grumbled in her own head, she was awakened to an orchestra rendition on the cookware the next morning. The earlier, the better, it seemed. She listened to Alfie putter around the bedroom for a few more minutes, and when he left with a squirming puppy under one arm and closed the door softly behind him, she sighed and rolled out of the comfy nest she'd created in the middle of the mattress. She had a full day anyway, it was probably a good thing Rowena hadn't let her sleep in. If she was going to be taking care of Alfie's side of the business today too and no Georgie to help her, she would have her hands full.

It was the thought of Georgie that sobered her up and got her moving. Life was calling, and she was grateful she got another day to answer.

When she entered the kitchen, dressed and pressed, Rowena was making a point of not looking at her while stirring whatever was on the stove and putting the final touches on two lunch pails on the sideboard. It smelled heavenly, as usual.

"Good morning, Rowena," Mabel said pleasantly. She'd decided long ago to behave as if she and Rowena were ancient friends, excited to spend girl time together and comfortable enough in each other's presence to let silences stretch. Long, long silences, hopefully.

"Good morning?!" Rowena started in. "How're ye gonna get that boy ta marry yeh, eh lassie? Have yeh thought of that?" Apparently no silences today.

"That boy?!" Mabel asked, stricken. She pressed a hand to her heart. "Oh, Rowena..." she looked pained and Rowena blinked, taken aback. "I...I thought you knew!" Mabel bit her lip, blinking at the ceiling. "Oh, this is just awful, I don't know what to say."

"Knew?" Rowena looked a little thrown. "Knew wha, lassie?" she asked suspiciously.

"This...this whole time," Mabel approached her, grasping her floury hands, much to Rowena's horror. "All this time, I've been waiting for YOU to ask me!"

"Ach!" Rowena scowled and tried to pull her hands away, but Mable wouldn't let her. Instead, she dropped to one knee, peering moonily into Rowena's look of distaste.

"Will you?" Mabel caught her breath. "Rowena, will you do me the honour of being my wife?"

At that moment, Alfie entered the kitchen in a swirl of greatcoat and hat. He looked at the scene before him, Mabel down on one knee grasping Rowena's hands, and Rowena scowling the whole time.

"I leave for five minutes..." he muttered under his breath, then grabbed one of the pails and left without another word, the front door slamming behind him and the puppy's nails skittering on the floor behind him, trying to keep up.

Mabel burst into laughter, and to her surprise, so did Rowena. The older woman barked out a laugh, as if it were rusty and ill-used, and favoured Mabel with a half grin before extracting her hands and turning back to the counter. She got back to the business of ignoring Mabel entirely, and Mabel counted it as a win. She didn't know if they'd start over at square one again next time, probably, knowing Rowena, but today she felt like she could accomplish anything.

She also grabbed her lunch pail and swirled her coat around her. She swirled it carefully, because Alfie bought it for her at the start of winter and it was, by far, the most expensive thing she owned and would probably ever own, and she'd maim herself if she dropped Rowena's lunch down the front of it. Also, Rowena's lunches were delicious. So, double maiming.

"I'll be back around noon to take care of Peaches," she informed Rowena, carefully pinning her hat in place in the hall mirror.

"Eh?"

"The puppy."

"I know her _name_ , lassie. Ye think I kenna take care of a wee puppy?"

Mabel turned and saw Rowena with her hands on her hips, glaring at Peaches as fiercely as a person was physically capable of glaring at a puppy that was currently trying to catch her own tail. Mabel knew, without a doubt, that Peaches would be the best-fed dog on the planet, if Rowena had anything to say about it. She smiled warmly at Rowena and kissed the older woman on the cheek.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. Puppies were adorable and fun, but Mabel knew they were _work_ too, and she would have enough of that on her plate as it was. She almost wished she'd known about Georgie before taking her. She'd felt silly now, offering Alfie a dog in the face of what turned out to be his friend's death, and realised that if she had known, she would never have brought Peaches home.

The word home startled her, even in her own head. She looked around the living room, the familiar bookshelves straining with books, the uncomfortable sofas that Alfie was immensely proud of but never sat on, and the wrought iron umbrella stand by the door that contained not only one of her umbrellas but a parasol as well. She hadn't known she'd left it. Rowena saw her looking at the stand and gave her an odd look. Mabel gave herself a mental shake and smiled at her again.

"Did Alfie tell you about Georgie?" she asked softly, and she saw the older woman's eyes widen.

"Aye," she replied, "but I dinna ken...Georgie?"

Mabel felt, to her embarrassment, her own eyes filling at the shock and sadness in Rowena's voice. Georgie had fast become a permanent fixture by Alfie's side and had shared many meals gathered around Rowena's table. It was obvious how much he'd meant to Alfie. Mabel, again, felt a stab at her own inadequacy, offering him a puppy and sex as some kind of...how _could_ she? " _Yaldeh, you have GOT to get better at this. Seriously? 'Oh, I hear your friend died, let me open my legs and make it all better.'"_ Georgie was a good man and had been a good friend to them all. She resolved to do everything she could for Alfie, for the businesses, to help make this easier if she could.

"Yeah. He said he wasn't sure if he'd sit shiva, but I was planning on staying here while he's gone to help with the dog," Mabel said quietly, clearing her throat around the lump that she found there suddenly. "If that's alright with you, of course."

Rowena nodded slowly, obviously aware that Alfie would go, even if he'd said he wasn't sure. She knew what kind of bastard he was too. "Aye, lassie, that'll be fine."

Mabel smiled at her again, softly, and grasped one of her calloused hands in her own calloused hand, honestly this time. She may have imagined it, but right before she let it drop, she thought she'd felt pressure from Rowena's fingers in return.


	23. DIY Right-Hand-Man

Alfie closed the front door and hung his hat, ploughing a hand through his hair and shrugging out of his coat. Mabel's coat was there, which he absolutely would NOT pick up and smell because she had to be around here somewhere and he'd just go pick HER up and smell HER.

It had been a right fuck of a day. Of a week, really. He didn't entirely regret getting in bed with the Shelbys, not really, but there were a few times when he felt pretty well fucked because of it, and this was one of those times. Georgie was...well, Georgie was gone, wasn't he? So it didn't much matter what he used to be. And he needed a new Georgie. He knew Mabel had done what she could, but it was getting too big, too much, unless he did things a bit differently. And he didn't want to give it all up just yet.

He turned to pick up the tiny puppy jumping at his shins, scratching her ears and tucking her close. She was fucking adorable and already growing, her paws and head even bigger and gawkier than when he'd left. He saw Mabel enter the room right behind her and felt something inside him uncoil, just a bit. God, but it was good to be home. He watched her smile, her face relaxed just a touch when she recognised him, and he opened his arms to her just in time. She enveloped him in a hug and he buried his face in her scent, breathing deeply. He wound his fingers into her hair, holding her close while the puppy squirmed between them, wanting to be put down. But Mabel was standing close to him, a pillar of warmth and strength, letting him hold her because she knew he needed it, and God help him, he did. When he finally broke the embrace to set Peaches on her feet, Mabel brushed his shoulders off and straightened his tie.

"You clean up pretty well, Mr Solomons," she teased, her voice light, offering him solace, respite, comfort if he wanted it. He felt his mouth turn up at the corners and he shook his head at her. Damn this woman.

She leant close to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Welcome back," she whispered, then bit her bottom lip, the way that drove him crazy.

 _"God, I missed you,"_ he wanted to say, the words almost physically on his tongue.

"God, I missed you," she murmured, and kissed him properly, chasing the words away with her own tongue. She was flush against him, warm, and beautiful, and perfect.

He squeezed her too hard, just to hear her "oof!" and put her back down on her feet with a small smile on her face.

"We got anything to drink?"

"Ah," she said sagely, "that, sir, is something you will probably never be in short supply of. Rum?"

"Mmph. Whisky," he decided, taking off his braces and heading for the study.

"Yikes. It's like that, huh?"

"Mmph." He didn't want to do this tonight, hadn't wanted to do it at all, but he needed her help and she'd waited up for him. He sank into the creaky old chair in the study, the big sturdy desk more organised than he'd ever seen it. Mabel must have been bored. Everything was dusted, of course, Rowena would have nothing less, but the pile of paperwork that had been steadily growing on the corner had been thinned down, and the bottom drawer was heavy with files. He mentally grumbled that he'd never be able to find anything until he saw her neat handwriting carefully labelling each file. "Receipts, Bakery Ledgers '18, Wages Ledgers '19, Articles You Told Yourself You Should Read but Probably Won't." He breathed out a laugh at the last one and stopped to wonder at her.

She really did know him. He hadn't planned it, hadn't even wanted it if he was being honest with himself. He'd fucked plenty of women over the years, but none of them had organised his desk. Or bought him a dog. Or made him laugh. It had been too long since he'd laughed the way he did when he was with her. She wasn't deliberately funny. Well, sometimes she was. But mostly it was...everything about her. He couldn't explain it. Like the cockamamie story about the dog coming from a farmer and being the smallest of the litter. It was horse shit, and he didn't believe it for a second. When would she have been at a farm? And that dog was nowhere near being a runt. He knew dogs, had grown up with them, had even fought them for a while when he was young and stupid, and this dog had bones like he'd never seen. She was beautiful and he knew that Mabel had paid a pretty penny for her. She'd probably been on a waiting list. But she'd managed to bring home the puppy exactly when he needed it, knowing he'd keep her because she was all-seeing like that. A right witch. And the whole thing made him laugh.

Suddenly, she was there in front of him, soft curls escaping the pins in her hair, a glass of whisky in her hand, a guilty look on her face when she saw him looking at the files she'd spent hours organising. As if he was going to be angry with her for doing something nice for him.

He rose and took the glass from her hand, setting it somewhere on the desk before cupping her face in his palms. He searched her eyes, curious on his, and he wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for.

"You're a witch, aren't you."

"Mmm. Probably. How else would I have found where you hide the good whisky?" she teased and he had to kiss her. He had to.

When they broke apart, she blinked hazily and asked, "Not that I'm complaining, but what was all that for?"

Alfie's mouth was a grim line and he settled behind the desk again with a sigh. "I need a favour." The words tasted so bad in his mouth he had to wash them down with a swallow of the alcohol.

Mabel appeared as shocked as he was, but she quickly composed herself. "One second," she promised, then disappeared. Alfie frowned and finished the glass, but she was back promptly, her familiar notebook clutched in her hand.

"What's that for?" he asked, irritated. Did she really need to drag this out?

"Oh, this is my diary. I'm just writing down for posterity the day Alfie Solomons asked _me_ for a favour," she grinned at him, settling in the chair across from him. He couldn't help rolling his eyes at her, but he kept his frown firmly in place. Damn witch.

She flipped a few pages, a pencil between her fingers and her lips pursed. "How much do you need? I can liquidate quite a bit tomorrow, but it might take-"

"I don't need money," he stopped her. His eyebrows drew together. "What in the bloody hell made you think I needed your money?"

She stopped, confusion splashed across her face. "Well, what do you need?"

Alfie swallowed. "Abe."

Now she did freeze like he'd known she would. He could see her frown starting, the stubborn set of her shoulders, the immediate shake of her head. "Now, just a damn minute, Alfie..."

"Mabe." The nickname stopped her but she was still frowning. "I need him. I wouldn't ask if I didn't need him."

"Well, you're not exactly asking, are you?" she grumbled, closing the book in front of her.

Alfie paused, and then continued because he was Alfie fucking Solomons and that's what he did. "I asked him. And he said yes."

Her mouth dropped open and he steeled himself. "Well, you right bastard! Bloody hell, what the _fuck_ , Alfie?" She threw her pencil down and it bounced onto the floor. "How could you do that to me? This is my business, you can't just waltz in and start misappropriating my staff!"

And god help him, he loved it when she got frustrated and started using big words. She was brilliant, and fiery, and passionate about the things she cared about and he was missing everything she was yelling at him because he kept staring at the way colour flushed her cheeks, and more curls shook loose, and her dark eyebrows drew together. Sometimes he riled her up just because she looked this way when she was angry.

"You have access to the entire _bloody_ _city_ Alfie, you can walk out your front door and trip over people who want to do your bidding, and you have the fucking _nerve_ to come into my-"

"The fucking nerve?" he interrupted, his voice quiet compared to her squawking and she stopped talking immediately, but crossed her arms and glared at the wall instead.

"The fucking _nerve_?" he said again, louder, rising from the chair. She turned to scowl at him directly and he slapped his hand flat on the desk. "Let's not forget who works for whom, here, sweetheart. That is my building you're lording over, that is literally my fucking chair you sit in every day."

"Oh, don't start that bullshit with me, Alfie, we have been around this circle so many god damn times it's making my head spin," she snapped. "You don't need Abe, you never did. I told you a bloody year ago that Chambers would be-"

"Chambers is out," Alfie shouted in her face, then cussed himself a blue streak in his head. How did she do that to him? He was constantly revealing more than he meant to, long before he meant to, whenever he was with her. She seemed to pull it out of him, like an inevitable waterfall of words. Witch.

She stood in front of him, fists clenched and nostrils flaring. "What do you mean, 'Chambers is out'? He was at work yesterday."

"Oh, what do you think I mean?" Alfie berated her, his patience done. He was tired, he hadn't eaten all day, and the generous glass of whisky was hitting an empty stomach pretty hard. "He's out, he's done. With you and with me." Alfie leant his head back tiredly and put his hands on his hips, all of it suddenly staggering him. He was getting fucking old.

She looked...hurt almost. "With me? But why? He didn't say anything to me, why would he-"

"His wife is having a baby," he said, more harshly than he meant to.

Mabel stopped, her fists unclenching. "Oh," she breathed, and she sat down again. "Well, that's..." but she didn't finish the thought.

Alfie looked down at the desk, not seeing it. "He said he didn't want to leave her alone with a baby to take care of, so he couldn't do it anymore." The silence stretched between them, thick and almost painfully separating them. He didn't know what was going on in her head, but he wanted to escape his own so badly he thought about getting another drink. "Fuck," he said under his breath. He continued on, talking to himself more than her. "He was terrified to tell me. Thought I was going to kick his teeth in because he wanted to be a good father." He sucked on his moustache for a second, then sat down again.

"Alfie, why don't you just tell me these things? I'm not your bloody butler, it's ok to actually give me all the information."

"Mmph," he grunted at her and settled back in the chair, his fingers turning the empty glass. "Mabe, you know I can't have just anyone. Right? You _know_ that."

She was quiet for a moment, looking down at her knees. "Yeah." She looked up at him, her gaze heavy. "Yeah, I know it. And I know you wouldn't ask if you didn't need him. Just..." she sighed. "Just don't forget that he's not going to tell you when he's tired, and he starts favouring his whole right side when he's had a long day. And he can't do as much anymore, he's not as fast. You can't expect him to be able to-"

"I know, Mabe, I know all that," he said, his voice low. "Look, I can't promise he's going to be safe, and I can't promise this is temporary." He reached across the desk, his palm up. "But I can promise that I will fucking try."

She gave him a watery smile and took his hand, her small, delicate fingers warm in his. "Yeah. Yeah, I know that too. Sorry, yeah?"

"Mmph."

Mabel took a cleansing breath. "Hungry? Rowena left something."

"Mmph," he grunted affirmatively and watched her as she rose and headed to the kitchen. "Mabel," he stopped her, and she turned back. "You should hire someone. For the bakery. It's mostly legitimate, you could even take out an advert. Find someone you like, just..." he faltered for a minute, then settled on, "just don't try to do it all yourself."

Her eyebrows drew together, and she studied him before nodding slowly. "Yeah, boss," she murmured, then have him a half smile before leaving him with his thoughts.


	24. DIY Besties

Mabel almost cried thinking about the amount of work that awaited her by the time Alfie got back. She'd been covering for him for a week, and while Abe could usually handle the day to day and she'd been at the bakery as often as possible, she knew that she would be buried in paperwork on Monday: a figurative that might very well become literal if the Tuesday shipment was going to be late again.

"Ahhh hah haaaaa!" she fake sobbed when she saw the mountain of work on her desk. "Oh my god, I'm never going to find the bottom of it!"

"Sorry, boss," Abe cringed, the useless fucker. She was going to miss him like crazy.

Mabel sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Just...just see if you can keep everyone out for today so I can at least make a dent."

"Yeah, boss," he promised, closing the door behind him.

Mabel blew the hair out of her eyes and removed her coat and hat. Right. She rolled her shoulders. " _You can do this, Mabe. Boss lady, extraordinaire. Let's go._ " She grabbed her pencil, a fresh ledger, settled herself what felt like permanently in her office chair, when there was a knock on the door. Abe poked his head in.

"Seriously?" she asked, her eyebrow raised. "It's been thirty whole seconds. You're the worst at this. I'm letting Alfie know what he's getting himself in for."

"I know, sorry, but you have a visitor," Abe grimaced. "It's Polly Shelby," he added in a whisper.

 _"Bloody hell,"_ she blinked. _"What in the name of all that is holy is she doing here?"_

"Ok, yeah," she cleared her throat. "Show her in, would you?"

Abe nodded, and Mabel took a few seconds to stand and brush the wrinkles out of her skirt, grimacing at the sturdy work fabric and plain cut of her dress. Of all the days to dress like she worked here. Unfortunately, this is how she usually dressed, because she worked when she was here, thank you very much, but it would have been bloody nice to not feel like a frumpy wash woman right now.

Polly Shelby was beautiful. Older, flinty-eyed, and no stranger to late nights and plenty of booze, but beautiful. She breezed into Mabel's office like a typhoon, a force of nature in a cloud of charisma and cigarette smoke and Mabel immediately felt inadequate. She felt small in all the wrong ways, and her tongue seemed to flop in her mouth like a dead lizard. " _A dead...lizard? What the hell is wrong with you, Mabe? She's just a woman. It's like Abe always says. I can't kick her in the bollocks, but she's just a woman._ " Mabel squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

"Good morning, Ms Shelby." Should she offer her hand to shake? "What can I do for you?" She settled on keeping her hands on the desk.

Polly's eyes crinkled when she smiled, her rouged lips and cheeks a classic contrast to her still-dark hair. Her teeth reminded Mabel of predators.

"It's Mabel, right? Mabel Ziemann? Should I call you Mabel?" She dropped into one of Mabel's office chairs and removed her gloves, her fur coat ruffling attractively around her neck.

Mabel blinked. "Uh...I suppose you should."

"Wonderful, darling. And you should call me Polly, of course."

What on earth...? "Should I?" Mabel hadn't felt this out of place in her own office in quite a while. "If...if that's what you want, Ms Shelby."

"Oh, come now. Don't be so timid. I can't have that. You and I are going to be very close." Polly eyed Mabel while she withdrew a cigarette and lit it, not asking for permission. "In fact, I'm here to ask you to a little get-together I'm having this weekend."

At Mabel's shocked look, Polly clarified, "Not at the house, or anything like that, just a few of us at the club for dinner and drinks, maybe a little dancing. What do you think?" She smiled again through the haze of smoke and Mabel thought of sharks.

"Ah..." the smoke must have been getting to her because she said the first thing that came to her mind. "I don't think Alfie would like that very much."

Polly's eyebrows shot up and her smile widened, becoming smug instead of predatory like she was a cat that had shown up to catch a canary and instead found it flopping on the floor of its cage. "Oh my goodness," she whispered, almost to herself, "you are too precious."

To Mabel, she said, "Isn't it tough working in a man's world? They always feel they know best, don't they? Gracious, it's like they think we wouldn't know how to open our own doors if they weren't there to do it for us!" She laughed, her husky voice ringing in the small room. She sucked down another drag and eyed Mabel again, who was still standing behind her desk, her hands leaving sweaty palm prints on its cluttered surface. "You know, I've been doing this a long time. I think you and I could be very good for one another." She paused, thinking. "Do you always do everything he says? Or does he let you add up the columns all by yourself before he signs off on it?"

Mabel instantly hardened. "Fine," she ground out, her feathers ruffling immediately. " _I_ wouldn't like it. And you can fuck right off because I am appalled that you think you could get one over on Alfie by coming in here and expecting me to roll over like some half-wit lackey and start spilling secrets."

She advanced on Polly, her voice getting louder and louder. "What exactly did you think coming in here today and trying to befriend me would accomplish? Did you think that you could eventually get me to influence Alfie for you because you and I would have a friendship? In what universe would I pick _you_ over _him_?" Now she was shaking her finger in Polly's taken aback and slightly impressed face. "I can't decide if you thought you could get to me because I'm a woman or because you think I'm stupid, but let me tell you something." Mabel let her anger bristle and the air around her crackle for a beat. "If you ever, and I mean EVER, step foot on this property without being heavily armed again, you will regret it for the rest of your very short life. You better come gunning or don't come at all, because I don't need you to be my _friend_ ," she spit out. "I have a business to run. Now," she straightened, "fuck off."

"Oh," Polly breathed, looking like a proud mother hen, "you two are perfect for each other, aren't you." She smiled warmly in the face of Mabel's scowl.

"Abe!" Mabel shouted, and Abe opened the door from the other side, holding it open so Polly could exit. "Show Ms Shelby to the door please, and be sure to give her one of our housewarming bread baskets on her way out because we do so appreciate good company around these parts."

Mabel smiled her sugary-est smile and Polly pulled on her gloves before inclining her head toward Mabel and exiting her office, a small secretive smile on her face. Mabel tried not to slam it as she closed the door behind her and returned to her desk, trying to recapture her thoughts from before. Bothersome woman anyway.

Mabel pushed it to the back of her mind, found her groove and worked steadily through lunch, pausing only when her stomach growled too loudly to ignore. She sighed deeply and stretched, the muscles in her back complaining. Suddenly the door to her office flew open and she shrank back, startled before she recognised Alfie, coat and broad-brimmed hat, completely out of breath.

"Alfie! What on earth..."

"I heard."

"You...what? You heard?"

"I heard what you said to Polly Shelby. I heard what you told that old bat and I've never wanted to fuck you more than I do right now." Alfie panted, his hand still holding the door to her office open.

Mabel blinked, then chuckled, despite herself. "Is that so?" She smiled fondly at him. "Right here in the office? Just like old times?"

"What?" Alfie looked around, confused. "Hell no, not in the office." He moved to the coat rack and grabbed her hat, thrusting it at her. "You're done for the day. I'm taking you to bed, and I'm not letting you up for a week."

She smiled, accepting her coat. "A week? Goodness. I hope no one comes looking for me."

He pushed her towards the door. "Did you really tell her to fuck off?"

Her smile faltered. "Yes?"

"A week. At _least_."

Then he grinned, his Alfie grin that made her heart flutter and she knew she'd follow him anywhere.


	25. DIY Parental Visits

The first touch of his tongue to hers was electric, every time. He was on her as soon as they got in the front door and she didn't think she would ever get bored of Alfie's kisses. The man set her on fire and she was helpless in the face of him. She let him walk her backwards, stopping to pull off coats, hats, gloves, shoes, all of it littered in a long trail and they made it to the hallway before he pushed her up against the wall and wrapped her legs around his hips.

His trousers were unbuttoned, but that was all, his shirt only half unbuttoned, and she was still wearing her shirtwaist, her long sleeves buttoned at the wrist but pushed up to expose her breasts. Her skirt was bunched up around her waist uncomfortably, but still, he was grinding up against her and the friction was in the perfect spot, and holy _fuck_ , he was going to make her come before he even got his kit off. He was kissing her and kissing her and she was pretty sure she was sliding down the wall but who the fuck cared when his hard cock was thrusting up against her like that.

Mabel moaned, long and loud, just like Alfie liked but would never admit. Which, of course, was when they heard a loud throat-clearing behind them.

"Ahem!"

They both froze.

"Ach, no, dunna mind me, dears. I'm sure you jus' forgot I work 'ere. During the day. When you're supposed to be gone."

Alfie grimaced and used his broad back to shield Mabel as she quickly unclasped her ankles and slid to the floor, hastily adjusting her clothing and fairly sure her face would ignite into actual flames at any moment.

"Rowena," Alfie began, then cleared his throat and started again, speaking over his shoulder. "You can actually have the rest of the day off. Please. Thank you," he stammered, and Mabel would have chuckled at his obvious discomfort if she hadn't been completely mortified and fervently praying the ground would open up around her, her face buried in Alfie's shirt so she wouldn't have to meet Rowena's disapproving eye.

"Ooch! Ken I? Well, I thank ye, kind sir," and Mabel didn't need to see her to know she was scowling.

Alfie nodded benevolently, although he still hadn't turned to face her, his arms caging Mabel and hopefully blocking her from sight.

"Yer mother called."

They both froze again and it took Mabel a few seconds to realise Rowena was talking to her.

"Wait, _my_ mother?" she asked, peering around Alfie and meeting her gaze for the first time. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Alfie and the annoyed housekeeper. Then her heart started hammering in her chest for the third time in as many minutes for as many different reasons.

"Well, it can't be mine, love," Alfie said gently.

Mabel frowned a little at that but asked Rowena in a panicky voice, "My mother called _here_? How did she know I was here?"

"I dinna ken she knew, just lookin'. She knows who your boss is, yes?"

"Oh," Mabel said stupidly, then scooted out from under Alfie's arm. She heard him sigh as she firmly avoided Rowena's gaze and spent a few shameful moments retrieving her scattered articles of clothing before ducking into the bathroom to finish re-dressing.

When she emerged, Rowena was still there, fists on her ample hips and a bitter twist to her lips. Alfie was nowhere to be seen, but his quickly growing puppy was sitting outside his closed bedroom door, tongue out and ready to play the instant it budged. She completely ignored Mabel and Mabel bit back her own sigh.

"What did you tell her," Mabel asked, "please?" as politely as she could while she set about gathering her coat and hat.

"I told her to try your apartment, o'course," Rowena grumbled. "Gave her the number."

Mabel froze again, her arms in the process of pinning her hat in place in front of the mirror in the front entryway. "But there's no one there but my..." Mabel stopped, the horror dawning on her, "landlord." She scrambled to gather her things. "Oh, bollocks, who knows what he told her?" she said to herself and let herself out the front door. "Oh, um, bye," she added as an afterthought to Rowena, but didn't stop for her reply, just started walking quickly toward her apartment.

Thankfully it wasn't a long walk, and her feet knew the way. Her brain was on overload, trying to figure out what to say to her mother about why she hadn't called, or written, or come to visit, or given her the damn telephone number for her apartment building. The truth was easy: she was never home. The reason for the truth was less easy: she spent as much available time with Alfie as possible, and now that there was Peaches to take care of, she was at his house even when he wasn't available. When she reached her dark and dusty apartment, she sighed and tried to mentally prepare for a meeting with her landlord. The older gentleman was extremely awkward, and every conversation revolved around whether or not she had cats up there because cats could destroy an apartment faster than *insert random metaphor she'd never heard before*, all the while he directed the conversation at her breasts.

"Mr Waterhouse?" she called at the bottom of the stairs, and his thinning grey haired head appeared from the "office" he used, and she wasn't entirely sure he didn't live in.

"Ah! Miss Ziemann!" he addressed her chest and she sighed, then immediately regretted doing so when his eyes widened. "What can I do for you?"

"I was told that maybe I received a call while I was out?"

"Hmm?" he dragged his eyes up, "Oh, yes!" He returned to his office to grab a piece of paper, then proceeded to tell her every single thing he'd written on it, time of call, number called from, length of call, etc, while she shifted from foot to foot, eager to get away.

"It was your mother, lovely woman. She just wanted to check up on you, see how things were going, of course." He chuckled and she gave him a weak smile, trying to turn towards the stairs. "I told her that you're not around much anymore, gone at all hours."

She paused, one foot on the step and her smile felt frozen in place.

"She said she's excited for her visit! Will she be staying with you?" he asked nosily. "She doesn't have cats, does she?"

"No," she answered distractedly, "no cats."

"Good, because cats can mess up an apartment faster than spit in a pig's eye. Constantly," he dropped to a whisper, " _urinating_ on everything." He made a face.

"Yes," she said, already climbing the stairs, "thank you, Mr Waterhouse, for the message."

"Oh, no trouble, no trouble at all!" he addressed her backside, and she skittered into her room, locking her door behind her.

* * *

' _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,'_ she thought, close to panicking as she paced her barren apartment. It looked very un-lived-in, now that she stopped to notice. Half her wardrobe had migrated to Alfie's, there wasn't a scrap of food in the house, and she didn't even have anything to clean her bloody teeth. She grumbled, cursed mentally and aloud, and spent the next hour scrubbing the dust out of the mostly empty apartment. It was hot, dirty work, and she thought longingly of the bathtub at Alfie's (taps!) before washing up as best she could and heading to the telephone in the hall that was used by the whole apartment complex.

"Mother! Hello, how are you? It's me. Mabel. Yeah. Do you have a lot of people that call you 'Mother' that I don't know about? No, of course not, I'm sorry. Yes, I know it has been a while since I called. Yes, or wrote. Yes, or visited."

At this point, Mr Waterhouse wasn't even pretending to not be listening, leaning out of his office doorway in his rolling chair.

"Well, I've been busy, of course." There was a long pause while she waited for her mother to run out of steam on the other end. "He said that? Well, that's just silly, Mother, where would I be? Of course I'm not calling him a liar, Mother. Well, I do spend a lot of time at the...at work," she amended, glancing at Mr Waterhouse and hurriedly changed the subject.

"So I understand you're planning a visit! That's...exciting. So, just a day or two? A...a month?! Wait, Mother...no, wait. A _month_!? No, that actually will _not_ work. Because I have a job, I cannot entertain you for a whole...Fine, I apologise. HOST you. No, Mother...Mother, please. Please be reasonable. NO. It's not a possibility, please stop pushing. Fine, yes, ok, fine. Fine. A week. Yes, I can do a week. NO, NOT _NEXT_ WEEK! Because I have to hire a new foreman, and there's interviews to prepare and the Tuesday shipments keep coming in late and...you know what? It doesn't matter _why_ it won't work, it just _will not_ work. Well, tell Daddy to speak with his job and reschedule. Tell them it's because those dates don't work anymore, and unfortunately, we need to reschedule. MUM."

She sighed and leant her head against the wall a little harder than necessary, the thump feeling visceral and grounding.

"Nothing, I just have a headache. No, I am eating. Yes, I am also getting enough sleep. Well, goodness, I don't know, maybe I'm wearing my hair too tight. Yes, I'll look into that." Thump. "No, I'm not being smart with you." Thump. She stopped another sigh just in time. "How about next month, Mother? Yes, that would be much better for me. Ok, we will have to work out exact days later. Right, now you have my phone number, so I'm sure I'll be hearing from you. No, still not being smart with you. Of course, Mother. I love you, too. Right. Goodbye."

Thump, thump, thump. Siiiiigh.


	26. DIY Dinner

A/N: I was on vacation this week, so I didn't get much written. Consider this what we call in this family a "filler episode": doesn't do much to drive the plot forward, but hopefully fun anyway. Also doesn't feature very many characters, because one of them was probably on vacation also.

* * *

Mabel bent over the sauce, burbling away on the stove, and wondered what the hell you were supposed to do if you accidentally put in too much salt. She took another tiny taste, hoping she'd imagined it.

 _'Oh, God, no, not my imagination,'_ she thought, spitting into the sink. _'That's just awful.'_

Well, what was she supposed to do now? She already had the pasta cooked, she'd spent forever getting the rest of the meal just right even though Rachel had assured her it was "the easiest thing in the world, you _can't_ cock it up and he'll just love it!"

 _'Well, I guess I showed you, Rachel,'_ she thought miserably, _'don't tell me what I can't do.'_ She moaned into her hand for a second before taking a deep breath. _'Ok, Mabe, stop your whinging, and do something about it.'_

Worrying her lip, Mabel cut up another tomato and added it along with a bit of water. She tasted it again and sighed. Maybe pepper? That was the opposite of salt, right?

"Come on, you fucker," she swore at the pot, daring it to fight back.

"You talkin' to me?" Alfie said from behind her. Mabel jumped, guiltily.

"Alfie! I didn't know you were back already!" She turned, hiding the disaster behind her. "Everything alright?"

"Right as rain, love, right as rain." Alfie scratched his beard and Peaches dove around his ankles, yapping happily and trying to get his attention. "What's all this?"

"Oh, this? This is nothing, I was just..."

"Smells good," he remarked, trying to peer around her. "Is it ready? I'm starvin'. You can't deny a starving man food, that's what I've always said."

Mabel raised an eyebrow at him. "I've never heard you say that in your life."

"Well, I've heard other people saying it and I will be saying it quite a lot going forward, so prepare yourself. Come on, let's eat." He settled himself at the table matter-of-factly, rolling his sleeves another turn and systematically removing his pocket watch, spectacles and other do-dads he seemed to acquire throughout the day, setting them neatly on the table beside him.

Right, just like any other meal. Ok, she could do this. She quickly transferred food to serving dishes and brought it over to the table, her insides churning. It looked lovely, the colours bright against the white tablecloth. It even smelled passable. Maybe it wasn't that bad. She steeled her nerves and served Alfie and then herself, ignoring the way he was watching her while he shook out his napkin and laid it on his lap. She refused to make eye contact as she brought out the salad, making sure Alfie had a generous portion before sitting nervously. She realised she was, quite literally, on the edge of her seat and forced herself back. She dredged up a smile while the puppy continued yapping between them, hungry for attention, and Alfie shushed her. Peaches immediately quieted, her tongue lolling adorably out the side of her mouth and her tiny flopped-over ears were bright and alert. Mabel was so shocked at the puppy's instant obedience that she missed Alfie's first bite. He'd chewed and swallowed and was readying his second by the time she'd unclenched her teeth enough to ask,

"Is it...alright?"

Alfie glanced at her passingly. "Fine," he said shortly, but not unkindly. Then he returned his focus to his plate and continued eating.

She stared at his bent head for a second. _"Fine? He said it was fine. What does that mean? Fine?! That's just...he probably hates it. It's terrible, I don't know what I was thinking, I am completely not cut out for domestic shit, god damn Rowena and her sister, and her sister's kid, and her sister's kid having a baby, and her sister's kid's baby living so far away-"_

"Ack!" Mabel practically jumped through the roof as Peaches nipped her ankle. "PEACHES! No, no! Bad dog!" Mabel felt her anxiety dam break and flood out towards the tiny puppy, who cowered behind Alfie's ankles and whimpered once. Mabel immediately felt miserable, the puppy's sad face guilting her with a power her mother would be impressed by.

Alfie scooped up the pup with one hand and deposited her in the back garden with an odd look at Mabel as he passed. Mabel pushed noodles around on her plate and sulked. _"Can't possibly cock this up",_ she thought, _"he'll love it."_ She shook her head at herself. _"Bollocks."_ But when he returned, the happy, yapping puppy was at his heels, happy tongue lolling again and Mabel allowed herself to feel a bit better that maybe the dog wouldn't hate her forever.

They finished the meal in silence, Mabel shoving food into her mouth automatically and, blessedly, not tasting a thing. Alfie ate the way he always ate, head down and efficiently moving food from his plate to his belly. Usually, Mabel chatted cheerily enough for the both of them, but tonight she just couldn't, not with the negative centrifuge in her head. She wasn't sure if she wanted Alfie to notice or not, honestly. He probably had noticed, and just hadn't said anything. Why would he? She couldn't believe how ridiculous she was being over some stupid dinner she'd made and she would _not_ ask him again how it was because she wasn't going to lower herself to begging.

When she finally couldn't force another bite, she began to pick up plates and stack them for the kitchen. When she turned around, Alfie was gone. She sighed, and scraped the rest of it into the garbage, refusing to feel sorry for herself. Alfie hadn't asked her to make dinner, she'd just wanted to. She'd wanted to make something nice for him, to do something she didn't do for anyone else. She wanted, maybe a little, to wow him with her culinary prowess and have him ooh and ahh over what a good cook she was, the way she heard so many other men do.

He was in the living room, sitting in the old leather armchair that only he used and was the only chair in the room he ever sat in. She flopped down on the sofa across from him, gathering herself to start a Conversation, when he cut her off, his eyes still fixed on the paper.

"You know, you don't have to try to win my approval. I'm not your boss."

She paused, then the preparation breath she'd taken gusted out of her. She made a face. "Well, technically, you are. And..." she continued quietly, "you say that like I shouldn't even want to have your approval. Which is silly, because of course I do."

Alfie folded down the corner of the paper and met her eyes. "You say that like you don't already have it, all the time."

It threw her for a moment, his straightforwardness, and she felt herself blushing stupidly.

"Now," he stated, changing the subject and going back to his paper, "fuck off so's I can read, yeah?"

She smiled at him, the thousand watt smile he brought out in her sometimes. "Sweetest boss ever," she quipped, then headed back to the kitchen to clean up, dropping a kiss on his head as she passed. Rowena would kill her if she found the kitchen with a crumb somewhere that she didn't specifically put there. Plus, Mabel had a pan to replace before she got back. The other one was beyond saving.

"Potato," Alfie's voice came from behind her.

Mabel paused, not sure she heard correctly. Then she craned her head back into the room. "Pardon?"

Alfie didn't bother to fold down the corner of the paper again, so from behind it came, "Potato."

Mabel felt a twinge of annoyance. She cleared her throat.

"What about them?"

"They soak up extra salt." He ruffled the pages. "You drop in a half a potato and cook for a few more minutes and Bob's your uncle."

Mabel should have been annoyed, but first, she would have to pick her jaw up off the ground.

"You...how did you...but, wait, you said it was...you know how to COOK?!" she finally sputtered out.

This time, he did fold down the paper. "I know a lot of things."

Mabel folded her arms and sniffed. "Fine. YOU can make dinner tomorrow then."

Before she could stomp off, from behind the raised paper came, "Can't."

Mabel did her best not to grit her teeth. "And why is that?" she asked, her voice sugary sweet.

"I'm taking you out to dinner tomorrow night."

Mabel felt a little wrong-footed, standing in the doorway of Alfie's living room wearing Rowena's apron, probably permanently stained with the remnants of the worst sauce ever and being told how to cook by a gangster.

"Yeah, ok," she said softly. "It was pretty bad, I know."

"'S alright," Alfie murmured. "Right nice to know there's something you're not good at."

Mabel rolled her eyes at him but the corner of her mouth quirked up a tiny bit on her way back to the sink.

Suddenly, from the back garden came a series of barks, then terrified yelps, then a high-pitched whine and even though Mabel had rarely seen Alfie move so fast, she got there first. She threw herself at the door outside yelling Peaches' name and positive she'd find a mass murderer or a bear or a dragon trying to eat her poor, poor-

Both Mabel and Alfie pulled up short when they instead found Peaches cowering in fear as close to the back door as possible to get away from-

a squirrel. A small, red squirrel in the back yard was sitting on the ground with its tail fluffed, cursing a blue streak at Peaches in chatters and chirps. Apparently, this young fellow was very put out by the fact that Peaches not only existed but had _barked_ at him.

"Oh-oh-oh, my goodness," Mabel tutted, crouching to soothe the pup. "Did that big, mean 'ol squirrel scare...?" Mabel trailed off as Peaches squirmed out of her grasp in order to rush to Alfie with her tail tucked safely between her legs and paw at his trouser leg.

"...you?" Mabel frowned at the puppy, who was now happily snuggled in the crook of Alfie's elbow while he made a show of checking her over while angling her in a way that he thought kept Mabel from seeing him kiss the top of her head.

"Ah, she's alright." He ruffled her ears and she stared up at him worshipfully, her tongue weakly licking his wrist. "Gotta meet the neighbours sometime."

Mabel felt her throat start to close up and was startled and hotly embarrassed by the sudden tears that threatened. She blinked hard and ran her fingers over Peaches' velvety ears.

 _'_ _She's just a dog. She isn't going to be psychologically scarred because you yelled at her earlier. Maybe she'd want some of the leftover food as an apology? No, that's a terrible idea. Here's a punishment for being punished earlier, sorry about that. If it had been less awful, maybe you'd like me better.'_

Then, for the second time in less than a minute, Mabel felt like she might cry. Holy hell, what was wrong with her?! She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat. _'Honestly, pull yourself together girl. Surely you're woman enough to handle-oh, wait,'_ she thought, drawing to a mental halt. _'What day is it?'_

Mabel quickly started counting backwards. _'Well, yep, that would explain it.'_ Sometimes she liked being a woman, and sometimes it was bloody awful. _'And awfully bloody.'_ Mabel swallowed hard again, this time around the inane laugh that she wouldn't ever, in a million years, be able to explain to Alfie if she let it loose. She realised she'd been staring at the top of the dog's head, petting her slowly for an awkwardly long time, and when she met Alfie's eyes, he was looking at her warily, like he wasn't quite sure what was going on. She cleared her throat and forced her hands to her sides.

"Well, I guess if we have a powerful need to have any squirrels chased, we're just going to have to do it ourselves. I don't think she's going to be up for scaring off any of those vicious creatures anytime soon."

Alfie gave her an odd look but held the back door open for her on the way back in the house.


	27. DIY Dog Days

"Ok, that's all for today, guys, thanks for staying a few minutes late. Remember that if you know anyone that would be interested or if _you're_ interested, I'll come in early tomorrow and the next day, just bring me a list of qualifications. Also, there's a sign-up list for volunteers for next week's special order if anyone is interested in additional wages. Have a good night," Mabel said with finality.

She watched the group of grimy, tired men shuffle off the floor and listened to them jostle each other and laugh, back slaps, promises of pints and good-natured insults tossed back and forth. She just hoped that tomorrow morning there might be one or two of them interested in the foreman position so she wouldn't have to post an advert. She could name them all, knew their spouses, their strengths and weaknesses, and their absolute loyalty to Alfie. She was counting on it, actually. She packed up her desk, turned off the lights and headed back to her flat. She had her parents coming next month and she was making a conscious effort to make her barely-lived-in flat something that she actually enjoyed spending time in.

Mabel slid the key in the lock, then stood in the open doorway and breathed. It had been a long day. _Another_ long day, she amended mentally. She was tired, and grouchy, and hungry, and...and lonely, it finally dawned on her. It had been four days since Abe had left and she'd been so busy that she was falling into bed at night in a heap of exhaustion. She talked to plenty of people during the day, especially since the Tuesday shipments were _still_ coming in late, and she had also wished for five minutes to her goddamned self so she could get something done. But now, as she looked around the darkened rooms, the quiet walls bare of any art or personality, she longed for another soul to really talk to. Or not! Someone she could sit in comfortable silence with and let today's stress drain away would be lovely too. She just wanted an equal, a friend. She wanted Alfie.

She blinked at the realisation, and with a nod, she swung the door back shut and locked up again. She didn't know if he wanted to see her, or even if he was home, but the suddenly she longed to be in the familiar rooms, sit in front of his cosy fireplace, play with the rags they'd knotted up for Peaches. She missed that dopey dog.

When she rounded the corner and saw Alfie's house, the quiet, darkened windows told her that she wasn't going to be feeling less lonely tonight, but the slide of her key in the lock told her that maybe it'd be alright anyway. She smiled as the door swung inward, pleased that she had this ability when no one else did. Rowena had a key, obviously, but Alfie had given Mabel one a few months ago "just in case", and she'd never actually used it before. She'd either been with Alfie, or Rowena had let her in. The power was sort of going to her head. She might just do something crazy like buy a new bookshelf or hang a painting. She stifled a giggle and crossed the threshold, and at the last second remembered that there was now a dog in the house. A dog who might not be ok with someone entering at an odd time without warning, especially someone who wasn't Alfie. The silly dog worshipped Alfie, it was almost embarrassing. She would follow him to the bathroom if she could. As it was, she waited patiently outside whatever door he'd disappeared behind until he emerged again. She walked around the house with him, and when he sat, she rested her head on his foot.

Mabel needn't have worried, as it turned out. When the door creaked open, she entered the house and took a quick look around, expecting Peaches to be on guard somewhere since she hadn't already met her at the door barking her fool head off. Instead, she found her curled in her bed in the kitchen, raising her head when Mabel walked into the room, her tongue lolling out.

"Hey pretty girl, good job scaring off the intruder. Nice to know we won't have to worry while you're on the job," Mabel teased, reaching to scratch behind her ears. "Hey, what have you got there?" She reached into the bed where Peaches and pulled out Alfie's shoe. "Oh no, Peaches!"

But when Mabel looked at it, it wasn't bitten or chewed. "Huh," she said quietly, turning the shoe over in her hands. "Maybe you're done chewing on shoes, then? Because that would be nice." She was already sporting a pair of shoes with a few teeth marks in them, she didn't really have the money to buy another pair. Well, she supposed she could find the money if she really needed to, but these were her favourite work shoes and she'd gotten them back home. She'd have to find a new cobbler in London at some point, but she didn't really want to.

While she was lost in thought, Peaches got up from where she'd been resting and came to nose at Mabel's hand. Mabel petted her obligingly, noticing the collar that Alfie had purchased for her. The brown leather looked handsome against her red fur and had quite a few more notches to go up as she grew bigger. Peaches was still growing into her paws and had the gangly teenager look of a puppy just growing out of their cuteness. Slowly, like she was testing Mabel's reaction, Peaches gently retrieved Alfie's shoe from Mabel's grip. She carried the shoe back to her bed and turned around once before settling back in, resting her head on the shoe and sighing heavily.

"Aww, you miss him too, huh?" Mabel smiled fondly at the dog and giving her a few more scratches. "Yeah, I know. I know. Well, what if I let you sleep on the bed, just for tonight? Would that be a little better?" Mabel kissed the top of Peaches' head and received a warm tongue on her chin in return. Then she stood, stretched, and breathed in the comforting scents of the house, feeling a little better already.

"I'm going to take a bath, Peach. You know why? Because I can. You wanna go outside? Yeah? Outside?" Mabel laughed at the way Peaches jumped up at the word and danced around her feet as she walked to the back door. She kept up a running commentary for the dog's sake before letting her out and going to draw a bath. Mabel added her favourite oils to the water, sighing happily and slipping into the tub to soak for as long as she wanted because there was no one there to tell her otherwise. Finally, she heard a scratching at the door and her toes were getting pruny anyway so she pulled the plug, cleaned up the bathroom, and shrugged on Alfie's dressing gown.

It was a strange thrill to walk around the big, empty house by herself. She felt like she'd slipped behind the rope at the museum and was somewhere she shouldn't be. She let Peaches in, padded to the living room, and selected a book from Alfie's overflowing shelves. She contemplated lighting a fire in the cold fireplace, just because she'd been thinking about it before, but decided against it. Instead, she took her book and her dog and curled up in Alfie's bed. It was too big and too empty without him, but Peaches lay next to her and it was alright. She was alright. When her eyes grew heavy, she set the book aside, buried her face in Alfie's pillow, and felt Peaches settle into the crook behind her knees. Tomorrow was another day, tomorrow would be better, and until then, Mabel felt warm, loved, and safe.

* * *

Alfie turned the key in the lock, the usual excited whines coming from the other side of the door. The sun was just beginning to stain the clouds pink, and he was more than ready for bed. He opened the door to Peaches jumping on him, her entire back half wagging so hard he thought she might fall over. She grinned, the way only happy dogs can grin, licked his hands, head butting him when he squatted down next to her to give her a good scratch, then spun in joyful circles a few times before coming back to jump and lick again. Well, at least someone was glad to see him.

Then, Alfie took a deep breath.

"Mabel?" he called quietly, his voice echoing in the empty hall. Peaches continued to jump and dance, ready to play, but Alfie was beginning to feel a warm glow in his chest. Did she really come to welcome him back? How did she even know when he'd be back? He hadn't even known. He saw her coat on the coat rack and couldn't stop the sappy smile that flitted behind his moustache. Damn witch.

Alfie let Peaches outside, then headed for the only room Mabel could be in. He paused in the doorway to the bedroom and took in the sight before him. Mabel's curves wrapped in his dressing gown, her long brown curls splayed across the pillows, and her laying diagonally across the large bed. There was a suspicious depression in the duvet right behind her knees that Alfie suspected had held a bundle of fur moments earlier. He could see her work clothes laid out neatly on the chair, her slightly chewed shoes tucked underneath. He undressed quickly, then slid in beside her, gathering her up to his chest so he could smell her hair. She made a soft, happy sound as she curled into him and warmth flooded him down to his toes.

"There's dog hair all over my fuckin' bed, woman," he rumbled softly, stroking her long curls and running his palm over her shoulders and down her arm.

"Mmm," she hummed with her eyes closed, snuggling closer. "There's me all over your bed too."

He huffed out a laugh and buried his nose in the space under her ear, breathing deeply. He swore she was like a balm on his soul, everything about her plucking all the right strings on his heart.

He could feel the effects of his breath on her skin was having on her. If Mabel had an on/off switch, this would be it. He let his exhale cast over her neck, his nose teasing the soft skin there and he could feel her open to him. Her head tilted back slightly, giving him better access to her long, elegant neck, her shoulders rolled back, her knee moved out just a bit, enough to allow him to press even closer. So he did. By the time he opened his lips and let his warm breath brush over her, he could feel her break out into goosebumps. He touched the tip of his tongue to her neck and it was like she'd been zapped by static electricity. He could feel her jolt and her fingers curled in his chest hair. Smiling to himself, he let his tongue run one quick stripe up her neck, then end on her earlobe. The effect was instantaneous. Magic. She almost caught the tiny sound that she made in the back of her throat, but not quite. He kissed his way along her strong jaw, the faint cleft of her chin, and then captured her lips to soak up any other sounds she saw fit to let escape. He treasured every one.

"Mabel," he asked in between sips of kisses, "how did you know?"

"Hmm?" she said, sounding dazed. "How did I know what?"

Alfie parted the robe she was wearing to slip his hand inside and _groaned_ when he found she was naked underneath. "How did you know," he kissed down her neck, her pulse fluttering beneath his lips, "that I..." his train of thought was getting hazy the further down her body he moved, "needed you?" He was in the process of leaving wet kissing down the top slope of her breast with two hands deliciously full of Mabel and doing his damnedest not to throw his leg over her and take her right then and there, which was why when she stilled and pulled back, it took him a few seconds to realise what he'd just said.

He stopped to look her in the eye. His pulse was elevated, his breathing quickened, and he was already painfully hard because she was a damned witch. Surely she wasn't questioning that he wanted her. But he hadn't said 'wanted'. He'd said 'needed', and that was quite a bit different. Alfie Solomons needed no one. Ever. Except...except for the times in between those times. The crevices of his life, the small, ever-present ones that were quiet and dull and empty-those had been significantly less so this past year. Mabel had worked her way into them.

"Because I needed you, too," she murmured sincerely.

Alfie swallowed. "Fuckin' hell," he gritted out, his voice gruff with want around the lump in his throat. He moved his too rough, too big hands to frame her beautiful face, his calloused thumbs sweeping her cheekbones. "That's a filthy lie and I know it," he said gently, watching as her eyes softened. "You're a damned witch." Then he kissed her. He kissed her the way he wanted to kiss her every time he saw her, opening her mouth with slow swipes of his tongue, pushing her, making her push back. She kissed him back with the same ferocity and he couldn't help the rush of arousal in his bloodstream when she surged beneath him, challenging him, giving as good as she got. This woman. This _woman._ She was...everything.

Alfie was no poet. He couldn't do her justice, even in his own head. He was not a man of words, he never would be. So he tried to show her. Alfie used his mouth, his hands, his body and tried to show her exactly what she was to him. Exactly what he saw when he looked at her. Exactly how she made him feel. He hoped she understood. The few tears he kissed away from the corner of her eyes said she might have some idea, but he knew she could never fully understand exactly. He would just have to keep showing her and hope she didn't get bored in the meantime.

"Witch."


	28. DIY Empowerment

Mabel groaned and stretched and without opening her eyes she knew it was too early to be awake. The light was too soft, the bed was too warm, there was entirely too much Alfie draped over her. She snuggled down into his warmth, the hairs on his chest tickling her. He looked about ten years younger when he slept, his plush bottom lip peeking out of his beard with every exhale and she felt the dopey grin on her face just looking at him. She wanted to trace his cheekbones, his aquiline nose, his beautiful mouth, pressing kisses into every bit of him, but her bladder was screaming at her and she realised something as she lay there. Something momentous. Something game-changing. Something to write home about. She realised that she couldn't hear a single pot or pan being clattered.

 _'Maybe Rowena has decided to forgive me for whatever it is she thinks I've done to her,'_ she guessed. _'Or maybe she didn't notice I was here. Or maybe she's trying to tell us that she approves of our relationship, finally!'_ Mabel tossed the covers aside and hurried to get ready for the day. Alfie didn't even move.

Mabel rushed through the bathroom (taps! on the bathtub! still can't stop being amazed!) and then caught a glimpse of the clock. _'Oh. Well, that's disappointing.'_ Rowena wasn't even there yet. Mabel had just gone to bed so early last night, tired from the day and wrung out emotionally, that she hadn't even considered what that might do to her sleep schedule. Well, she had promised to go in early today. Plus, now she didn't have to do the walk of shame in front of the formidable housekeeper. Mabel found a scrap of paper and, feeling like a juvenile and not caring one whit, pressed a lipstick print to it before propping it on her vacated pillow. She ran her fingers lightly through Alfie's short, mussed hair, and when he didn't even stir, she made sure Peaches had food and water for the day and headed to the bakery.

When she saw the line of people stretching from her office door, her first thought was that there'd been an emergency and she had to tamp down her fear, anxiety, and sheer annoyance that no one was following the emergency protocols. Then she understood. _'Oh, my,'_ she thought. _'This is going to take all day.'_

And she wasn't wrong. It turned out that most of her senior staff wanted a shot at being the foreman, especially since the bakery had gone mostly legitimate and there was significantly less chance of being shot by Alfie when he was in a bad mood. Mabel rarely made people cry (ok, never) and she encouraged innovation in all aspects of the business. There were a few people that she turned down flat because she already knew it wouldn't work and she wouldn't waste their time or hers. There were several more who were bringing her suggestions on what to look for or possible people she might want to hire. Or, in a few cases, do you know if there's any work for someone who can do x, y, or z?

She'd been at it for several hours when she looked up to see Rachel. Mabel smiled, weary and glad for a friendly face.

"Hello, my dear. What can I do for you?"

Rachel beamed at her. "Well, I'd like to apply for the foreman position, of course."

Mabel very carefully did not let her confusion or surprise show. Rachel was...Rachel. She couldn't be a foreman. "Why?" she asked calmly, making sure only her curiosity showed in her voice.

"Because I don't want to be a secretary forever, silly. Who would?"

"But..." Mabel faltered, "you're actually really good at being a secretary." She was at a loss for words. Of anyone here, she never expected to see Rachel sitting across from her asking for a different position. There were two girls in the front office, and their job was maintaining the "bakery" image so that everyone else could do their jobs. They had quite a bit of paperwork forwarded their way once Mabel started handing out jobs, and they both did fairly well.

"Aw, thanks, love," Rachel smiled. "But, I don't know, I mean, I look at you and I just think, "There's gotta be more to what I can do," ya know?'

And Mabel did know. She knew in her bones what it felt like to want that something more and not have any idea how to get it for yourself. Not only because you had no idea where to start, but because no one would even entertain the idea of helping you do it. She had climbed so many mountains to get where she was, and if anyone had ever said to her that she should continue being a secretary because she was really good at it, she would have been so very, very angry with them. And with herself. But Rachel was sitting across from her smiling kindly, and waiting to hear her verdict.

Mabel took a deep breath, thinking fast. She gave Rachel back a smile and set her pencil down carefully. "Rachel..."

"Uh oh," Rachel said chuckling, "I've heard that tone before!" But Mabel could see the hurt and disappointment behind her smile. Rachel tried to cover it by making like it was all a big joke, though. She shrugged exaggeratedly, then stood to go.

"Wait, please," Mabel asked. "Please, Rachel, sit down." She waited, and eventually Rachel did, her smile a bit shakier and her eyes on her shoes. "Look," Mabel started, "I trust you, Rachel, maybe more than you realise. And now I want you to trust me. Ok? Can you do that for me, just for a few minutes?"

Rachel nodded, once, and Mabel nodded back. "Ok, so here's the truth. I can't make you foreman today, for a few different reasons. But I have been where you are, and I've wanted what you want, and if you're serious," Mabel waited until Rachel met her eyes again before saying, "I'll help you."

Rachel nodded again, then started blinking fast past the tears that formed in her eyes.

"Now stop that," Mabel warned. "This is one of the reasons. I'm going to give you a list of things that are keeping you from walking out of here with the foreman position today, and you're not going to look at them as criticisms, you're going to look at them as a to-do list. You fix those things, and you come find me, and we'll talk. That's how I'll know you're serious. Ok?"

Rachel took a shaky breath and pasted her smile back on. Mabel didn't smile back. Then, she started to lay it out for her, carefully and slowly. She didn't always show up for work on Monday morning, Mabel had found errors in her work before that could have been costly had they not been corrected, and she needed a thicker skin if she was going to be directing teams of men hired to doing illegal things.

"If you're going to do this-if this is really what you want-your priorities are going to change. You won't have the luxury of wanting people to like you. You won't be able to date just anyone. You will have to be prepared for people to try to get to this company through you. It is a pretty big commitment. So I want you to think about this carefully." Mabel could see what she was saying was hitting home pretty hard and Rachel started looking a little apprehensive. "In the meantime," Mabel said, backing off a bit, "I have a few other things I need doing that I could use your help with if you'd like a change of pace."

"Oh," Rachel looked intrigued. "What did you have in mind?"

So Mabel set her up with a small table outside her office, tasked with accepting applicants and weeding out questions that didn't have anything to do with the position. It was a huge relief, and she actually got some things done in between talking to the ones Rachel had let in. She was deep in it when she realised she hadn't been interrupted for at least 20 minutes and heaved a sigh and sent up a quick prayer of thanks. Maybe she was done with this madness for today. She looked at the watch swinging from her belt just as her stomach rumbled and she decided to take Rachel to lunch as thanks for her help. She opened her door to invite her when she heard Rachel's voice.

"...it's not gonna happen, Travers."

"But...but I have experience! See! I wrote it down." She saw Travers point at something on the paper he'd handed Rachel, who was doing her best to hand it back.

"I don't care, Travers. You are going to need a much thicker skin if you're going to be directing teams of men hired to do illegal things. I suggest you think about it."

Travers wilted with disappointment and took the paper back. He shuffled off back down the hallway and Mabel cleared her throat. She fixed Rachel with a look, who managed to look a little contrite, but Mabel couldn't really say anything about how she'd handled Travers because...well, she wasn't wrong. Rachel rose and handed her a stack of papers.

"Here you go, boss, I put the most practical towards the top and added some of my own opinions on the back of each one. You can take them or leave them, of course."

Mabel was impressed. "Thanks," she said, accepting the stack. "Do you want to grab some lunch?"

Rachel grinned. "Sure do! Let me get my coat."

When they were seated and eating, Mabel grilled her about her favourite candidates and then asked her about Travers. "What do you see him doing if not the foreman position?"

Rachel licked her spoon and looked contemplative. "Well," she started slowly, "he's very nice, a good listener, a people person. I'm not sure where I'd put him, but he'd do really well in a job where he had to deal with customers. I don't know that I'd put him in a position with any authority, but he would do a good job of making people feel heard."

Mabel nodded, satisfied, and explained what she'd been thinking about all morning. "Rachel, you're good at this, recognising people's strengths and weaknesses. And based on my experience this morning, it seems like we need someone that would be good at matching up people with a job that's right for them. Lord knows, there's a lot of out-of-work people out there, and if the places that are hiring are anything like mine, they can't exactly run an advert in the paper." She watched for Rachel's reaction as she continued. "You could charge people a small fee, help them write a list of their qualifications, and point them in the right direction. Hell, if you'd give me first pick, I'd get you some start up money and you could make it a real business." Rachel's face was neutral, just taking it all in. Mabel wasn't sure how she was taking it, seeing as how she'd just suggested to someone that applied for a promotion that she get a different job altogether. "What do you say?"

Rachel took a drink and licked her lips. "I say," she took a breath, "when do I start?"

Mabel couldn't stop the grin that broke out on her face. "Well, I'd ask that you not leave until after I've the new foreman in place, and if you could still come in a few hours a week after that until I'm sure they're ready, I'd appreciate it. But you can start working on it now, just let me know when you'll be out."

Rachel grinned back. "I don't know what to say, boss."

"Well, I do." Mabel spit in her hand and held it out. "Congratulations."

Rachel grimaced and looked at Mabel in horror.

Mabel laughed, long and hard, before grasping Rachel's wrist and making her shake. She chuckled while Rachel wiped her palm with her handkerchief and then paid for their meal, including a very generous tip because she rarely felt such a sense of accomplishment over her lunch break.

In fact, she felt sort of invincible. When she got back to her office, she took the stack of paperwork that Rachel had given her and flipped until she found the first woman's name, about four down in the stack.

"Wilma Fitzgerald," she said to herself. There were no notes on the back. She had factory experience in the war so she didn't seem unqualified. "Huh."

"Rachel, what about this one?" she asked, curious. "You don't have any notes."

Rachel looked it over and shrugged. "I didn't have any strong feelings one way or another. Is she the one you're thinking, boss?"

Mabel nodded, slowly. "It feels like a good day for empowering women, what do you think?"

Rachel grinned. "I feel like that every day."


	29. DIY Roles

Mabel tried not to gape at the woman standing on the other side of her desk. She looked at the sheet in front of her, where she'd written in precise handwriting, _Wilma Fitzgerald-foreman? 8 am,_ to make sure she had the right date and time for meeting the woman who'd applied for the job. It was. But the person in front of her could not be Wilma. The Wilma in her head was old, bristle-haired, and possibly grouchy. This Wilma was young, blonde and lovely, and seemed to vibrate with energy. She was wearing a cream-coloured linen dress that Mabel knew she would have made a smudged and wrinkled mess of before even getting it over her head, but which this woman seemed to wear in perfection as easy as breathing. _'How?'_ Mabel wondered. _'I must have failed that aspect of womanhood because I'm positive that's something I'll_ _never_ _be able to do.'_

Mabel cleared her throat and stuck out her hand. "Hello. Mabel Ziemann."

The woman greeted her with a wide, honest smile and Mabel relaxed a bit.

"Hello," she began, "Wilma Fitzgerald. It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise. Will you sit?" Mabel gestured to the chairs and waited for her to take a seat before sitting herself. "Ms Fitzgerald, thank you for coming in today. I wanted to discuss the foreman position we have open. I got your qualifications from a friend of yours, but could you tell me a little about yourself?"

"Well, to begin, call me Wilma, please," she started. "It's my brother that works for you, actually, I asked him to drop them off. I was looking for work and he mentioned something, and it seemed too coincidental for it to not be a sign."

Mabel smiled encouragingly and asked about her qualifications.

"I worked in a munitions factory during the war. I mostly worked the floor, but towards the end, I dealt more with the planning and organising aspect of the business, and I also handled a lot of high profile customer interactions. Actually, that's where I met Danny, my husband."

"Oh, you're married?" It shouldn't have surprised her; they were the same age, or close to it, and women were getting married much younger for centuries. Wilma seemed so... full of _life_ , though. Like she might leave here to go dancing or swim the Channel or challenge the Pope to a game of double dutch.

"Yes, I am, although to be honest, I forget I am sometimes!" Her bright laugh twinkled in the air. "He's in the Royal Navy, so he's gone a lot. He's gone now, actually. I'm lucky, though. I have a little tiny version of Danny at home to remind me of him."

It took Mabel a moment to process what she'd said. Then she blurted, "Oh, you're a mum too!"

Wilma smiled, her whole posture softening. "Yes, I am." Then she looked up, stiffening. "That won't be a problem, will it?"

Mabel felt back on familiar footing. "You tell me. Will it?"

Wilma responded without hesitation. "Absolutely not. My son is my life, but my work is how I define myself outside of him. All I ask is for an opportunity to define myself in a way that makes me proud." Her eyes glinted with a fierce fire and Mabel smiled, genuine and full. She liked Wilma. She had been expecting something different, but the truth was Wilma Fitzgerald was honestly and completely likeable. The determination in her face reminded her of her dear friend Hazel, and her positive attitude was catching.

"That's all I ask of you, too," Mabel finally settled on.

Wilma broke into a smile. "Does that mean I get the job?"

Mabel smiled back. "It's yours if you want it, Wilma. Welcome to the bakery."

Wilma threw her head back, her laugh loud and full of delight and her hands flew to her face. "Oh, I'm so excited! Thank you so much for giving me a chance, I can't wait to tell my mum!" Her eyes glowed, and she tried to tamp down her grin. "She's watching Dan right now. I think she owes me a drink."

Wilma winked at Mabel and Mabel tried to ignore the tiny flare of something in her gut as she spoke about her mother. _Was that jealousy? I don't even want a relationship like that with my mother. Do I?_ She shoved the thought far, far away from her and tried to focus on the exuberant woman in front of her. "You call your husband Danny and your son Dan?" Wilma laughed again and Mabel chuckled in response. Her laugh was contagious, it seemed.

"It suits him, he's an old soul. You should meet him sometime, you'd agree with me."

"I'd like that," Mabel said, surprising herself. Kids weren't her cup of tea, but something about the way Wilma lit up when she was talking about him made Mabel curious. It was like she was talking about a long-time friend rather than her child.

The sentiment seemed to please Wilma, who stood and pumped Mabel's hand. "Ms Ziemann, I am absolutely thrilled to be joining your team. I will be in straight away tomorrow morning and we can get started."

Mabel stood also and surprised herself again by saying, "Mabel, please. And do you have time for a quick tour now?"

Wilma beamed. "I'd love one."

So Mabel spent the next hour on a slow stroll through the stacks, across the production floor, breathing rooms, and storage and introduced Wilma to anyone around. Her glowing face, linen dress, and winning smile were like a breath of fresh air on the production floor. She met each man with polite respect, but an air of authority that benefited the role she would play come tomorrow. Mabel couldn't have been more pleased. Wilma handled the crew like a pro, winning their almost instantaneous respect and setting herself in a leadership position from the get-go. There were more than a few lingering glances as they headed to the next area, but Wilma didn't seem concerned.

"I think you may have a few admirers after today," Mabel quipped as they headed back to her office.

Wilma tipped her a knowing look and held the door for her. "I'm sure you've had your share of infatuations to deal with in the working world, someone as beautiful as you. They seem harmless, and I'm not worried. I can take care of myself."

Mabel blinked, pleased by the compliment. It was true she'd spent a good portion of her early days in the workforce establishing she was not a free-for-all lunch menu. But she'd been working for quite a few years more than Wilma it seemed, if the marriage and child were any indication, and yet Wilma had an almost uncanny ability to deal with this group of men.

Wilma was impressive. There was no other way for Mabel to describe her. Tomorrow, she thought, would be a very interesting day.

* * *

It had been a long fucking day, and all Alfie wanted was a drink and maybe some dinner before he fell into bed and oblivion. His front door was locked when he tried to open it, so Rowena was gone for the day then, and he sighed. On one hand that meant no dinner, on the other, it meant he didn't have to deal with people and pleasantries for a few hours.

He took his hat and coat off before realising that Peaches hadn't met him at the door and he paused, all senses on alert. He took a deep breath and smelled her a moment before he saw her.

"Mabe?" he asked as she came down the hall. "What's going-" but she was rushing at him, covering his mouth with her hand.

"Oh, fuck, what are you doing here? He'll be back any minute!" she whispered furiously.

He stared at her stupidly. "What?" was all he got out before she was on him, her mouth devouring his, her hands under his shirt as she pushed him against the front door.

"Mmph," he grunted as he slammed into the wood. "Who will?" he managed as she broke away, going for his flies.

"My boyfriend," she said as she sunk to her knees in front of him, her eyes wide and innocent. "He can't find you here, he'd be so angry. You have to hurry and fuck me before he gets back."

And he hadn't been hard before she'd pulled him out of his pants, but god damn if that didn't do it for him. She started with little kitten licks and staring up at him with those huge eyes from her spot on the floor. When her soft, pink lips parted to suckle just around the tip, Alfie groaned and threw his head back against the door, already short of breath. She made tiny sounds as he filled up the inside of her mouth, her tongue doing obscene things to him.

"Holy fuck, woman," he gritted out as she swallowed him down, her fist meeting her mouth when she couldn't take any more. Then she hollowed her cheeks and pulled back before slurping him down again. She set up a rhythm, her method messy and tortuously slow. He grabbed her when he couldn't take another second and hauled her up against him.

"Hurry," she said again, her lips shiny in the fading light. "He could be back any minute."

"Then get in the living room," he said, swatting her on the bum just a little too hard. Her eyes flew wide, and she nodded and scurried away. He took a quick calming breath and ran a hand over his face before he followed her. He was jutting ridiculously from the front of his trousers, so he pushed them down and sat in his chair to remove his shoes.

"Oh, I don't think he'd like you sitting there," Mabel warned, and he lost his train of thought as she shimmied out of her knickers and stockings, then lifted her dress over her head. "That's his favourite chair."

"Is that right?" he growled, his head full of her and never mind the fucking shoes. "Then get over here."

She was wearing the peach chemise today, his favourite. He spun her around and sat her in his lap, her perfect round bum sliding on his thighs. He lifted the fabric just enough to get his hands under it and revelled in the feel of the silk over his hands and the silky skin under them.

"I like this one," he purred in her ear and watched her shudder.

"So..." she faltered and licked her lips, her eyes closed. "So does he."

He teased her nipples and she moaned. "Not anymore," he demanded. "You wear this one for me."

"Yes, sir," she whispered, and God, he was hard. She was fucking crazy, and he loved it. He lifted the lingerie off of her, using every movement to touch her, then ran his hands back down her perfect skin. Her delectable arse framed his cock and he couldn't stop touching her, pulling her cheeks apart and sliding in between them, his cock still slick from her mouth. He thrust between her cheeks, the view too delicious to ignore, until she breathed, "Hurry, put it in me," and he groaned and hurried to comply.

Alfie lifted her so she could sit down on him, and she was so, so wet. He felt his eyes roll back in his head as she sank down onto his full length, her breathy moan about to undo him. He needed a minute, so he grabbed her by the long curls and pulled her so her ear was next to his mouth.

"I am going to fuck you in this chair," he growled, his lips brushing the shell of her ear and a small sound escaped her sweet mouth. "And then every time you're in this room," he watched her throat work as she swallowed, "every time you see him sitting here," swallow, "I want you to think of this."

Then he thrust into her, hard, and she cried out, wanton and moaning, before thrusting back. Then they were moving together, her arse slapping his thighs and his hands on her hips, gripping hard enough to leave marks. She could wind him up so fast, and she knew it. He knew she loved being in control like this, her thighs flexing as she drew herself up before sinking down onto him again, rolling her hips deliciously.

He listened to her "Oh, oh, oh's" get higher and faster, before she whined, "Hurry, he's coming," her voice breaking on the last syllable.

"God damn right he is." And he did, hard and fast, and she shuddered around him, milking him. He gathered her to him, resting his head between her shoulder blades while he groaned out the last of his release. This woman. This _woman_. He would never, ever get enough of her. She leant forward, letting him slip free and he ran a hand up her back. Then Mabel stood and stretched and he watched the peach silk brush the tops of her thighs as she slipped back into her chemise. Alfie thought she was entirely too composed, especially in contrast to him, sweaty and come-stained as he tried to pull himself together. Eventually, he gave up and sat there boneless and panting while she pulled her dress back on. She fluffed her hair once, then turned and caught his eye.

"Oh, Alfie! I didn't see you there. Welcome home. There's dinner in the kitchen if you're hungry." She dropped a peck on his lips before disappearing into the kitchen, humming.

He sat there, out of breath and a total fucking mess, and huffed out a laugh. Fucking hell. Maybe, though, it wasn't such a bad day after all if it ended like that.

When he managed to gather himself back together, discarding his sweaty shirt and kicking off his shoes, he padded into the kitchen in his trousers to find her reheating food on the stove and putting it on a plate. He watched her for a moment, the damp tendrils of hair on her neck, the way her bare feet stretched when she reached in the cupboard above the sink. Almost of their own volition, his hands found her hips, smoothing the fabric over them, then skating around her waist to pull her towards him. She sank into his arms, compliant and pliable, but still moving to get him his dinner. He shoved down the fluttery feeling in his chest and squeezed her a little too hard, getting in her way and nosing her neck where she was ticklish. She squawked and swatted at him, but he could hear her smile. He could feel his own answering smile and pressed a kiss into the back of her head.

"Stay tonight," he said gruffly, not asking but hoping she'd know it was a question anyway.

She craned her head around to press a quick kiss to his mouth. "Okay," she chirped and the fluttery feeling was back. "Now do you want this food, or not?"

He tried to memorise her face once again, then nodded. She nodded back solemnly, mocking him, then grinned and pushed him towards the chair. And while he ate, she chatted about her day, her new foreman, her insecurities, her hopes. The words spilt out of her like it was easy, she shared herself with him without reservation or agenda and it was almost as refreshing as the sex, the food, and the peace of being home. When she got done and asked him how his day was, he heard himself responding. She listened to him about a recent uptick in tobacco prices after the war which had left people scrambling for cheap tobacco and his shit luck in finding a supplier in London since the recent train robbery.

"A fucking train robbery. In this day and age." He huffed his breath out his nose in frustration. It was reckless and flashy and annoyingly effective, which meant more than likely that those Birmingham fucks had something to do with it.

"Well, why don't you think on a more global scale?"

He paused, eyes on hers, the thought chain her simple words had inspired spiralling outward in his mind.

"Mmph," he said, considering.

"You could go straight to the source in, say, America, then work out control for some of the shipping." She took the empty plate from him and stood. "In fact," she mused, " if you can get that, you could do quite a bit with it."

"I could, could I?"

She grinned at him over her shoulder as she scrubbed the plate. "Sure. You just need to dream a little bigger, darling."

"Mmph."


	30. DIY Confidante

Wilma fidgeted as Mabel stared down at the report she had finished scanning, then at the woman in front of her.

"Wilma, I need to read this in more detail, but let me tell you something first," Mabel insisted. She leant across her desk with her hand flat the report as if to keep it from escaping. "If you ever even consider getting a job elsewhere, you come find me, because I _will_ find a way to keep you here. It might involve some kind of tether, but I'll find a way."

Wilma's cheeks pinked, but her eyes danced with excitement. "Do you think it'll work? I mean, could we try it?"

"I think it's bloody brilliant, and I wish I'd thought of it myself."

"Eek!" Wilma squeaked, clapping her hands. "I'm so glad you think so, I worried you'd say it was too expensive."

Mabel smirked, knowing she couldn't exactly reveal that she had a substantial financial backer, but she wouldn't be surprised if Wilma knew anyway. "Startup costs are always a consideration, but we have to plan long term. And while I'm thrilled by this prospect, it's so innovative and interesting, I'm equally impressed by all the work and research you put into this. How did you get all this information?"

"Oh," Wilma flapped her hand dismissively, "I kept asking around until I got the answers I wanted. It's a big fault of mine, actually. I'm surprised you hadn't noticed."

"Hadn't noticed?!" Mabel gaped at her. "You talked to sugar cane suppliers from half way around the world." Mabel held up the file she's received that morning from Wilma's tentative grasp. "You have research in here that would take me months to dig up, even with all the resources at my beck and call. I could kiss you right now, do you know that?"

"Better not," Wilma teased. "Danny's ship's still not back. It's been a while. I might forget myself."

"Oh no, still?" Mabel dropped the file back on her desk and turned her eyes on her friend, all trace of laughter dried up. "But you said he was due back a few days ago." Mabel knew she and Dan had been counting down the days on a big chalkboard in his room. Poor kid would be devastated.

Wilma shrugged, trying to hide her troubled eyes. "He was scheduled to be back in port, but they got re-routed and he'll be out at least another three weeks. This is the longest I've gone without seeing him since I was pregnant."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Wilma. That sounds terrible." Mabel gave her what she hoped was a supportive smile.

Wilma smiled in return, a real one, and a shrug. "That's okay, I'm a big girl, I can get by. When he comes home though, I'm warning you now. I might have to take a few days off to get caught back up if you know what I mean. These dry spells are a killer."

Mabel laughed, her head thrown back and her eyes watering. "Well, consider it vacation well-earned. I definitely know about dry spells. I've got one of my own going on now too, so I feel your pain."

Wilma chuckled too. "Yeah? Any end in site for yours?"

Mabel smiled, shaking her head ruefully. Wilma knew she was dating someone, but she didn't know who, and Mabel was light on the details. She couldn't resist talking about him a little though, now that she had a girlfriend to share stories with. "I'm not sure. He's just been so busy, and I mean, I have too, but..." Mabel sighed. "The last time I talked to him, he said he hoped he wouldn't have to go to America, and I've been dreading it in the back of my mind ever since."

Because, of course, Alfie had run with her idea and she had barely seen him since. They'd exchanged a few kisses when she'd stopped by, which were pretty damn good kisses. In most circumstances, those kisses would have lead to more, but he always got called away and she _missed_ him. When he finished with this tobacco deal, she would drag him to bed and take her own few days off to catch up.

"I've got it."

Mabel blinked out of her reverie. "Got what?"

"The cure for our moping. Let's go out tonight and go dancing."

"Oh," Mabel hesitated. She was supposed to be getting ready for her parent's visit-they were coming on Monday, and she had done nothing about a guest room. Granted, her small flat didn't yield a slew of options, but she should at least put together an effort of making them comfortable. "Well..."

"Come on, it'll be fun. Just us girls. Please? I can't remember the last time I did something that didn't involve Dan."

Mabel looked into her pleading eyes and decided she already spent too much time worrying about her parents and not enough time being a whole person outside of work. She needed a night out and she needed to remember who she was. The temptress that was the beat, the sway of bodies, the thrill that climbed her limbs and demanded to be shaken out called to her.

Mabel's eyes sparkled. "Ok, yes. You talked me into it."

"Fantastic! I'll run home after work and ask my mum to keep an eye on Dan. Want me to pick you up?"

A nod and it was decided, and Mabel rushed to get the rest of her work done so she could leave her desk and mind clear and immerse herself. She gave Wilma her address and ran to her flat to change and retouch her hair and makeup. She hadn't been out for so long, and she would not miss out on the opportunity to live it up a little. Alfie wasn't exactly a dancing kind of guy. She smiled at the thought of taking him to a club. He'd, no doubt, stand on the edge of the dance floor with his arms folded, surrounded by his men and scowling at everyone until they scurried away. It was ludicrous, but she felt fondness for him seeping through her at the thought. He was, truly, a ridiculous and terrifying man, and she wouldn't trade him for the world.

She heard the beep of the cab, fluffed her hair once more in the glass, and grabbed her bag. This would be fun.

Wilma looked amazing, and Mabel wasn't the least surprised. She looked even more excited than Mabel though, if that was possible, and so when she insisted she knew just the place, Mabel was happy to ride along. They ended up at a newer club that Mabel had heard of but hadn't ever been to. She knew nothing about it although she was sure Alfie had a file somewhere about them. She vowed to stop thinking about work though, so she grabbed Wilma's hand and drug her to the dance floor as soon as they paid for the cab. Mabel couldn't stop smiling. The dancers crowded the floor, but the band was fantastic and Mabel could feel the stress of the week slip off her shoulders. She bounced from dance partner to dance partner, but keeping Wilma in sight at all times, just like she used to do when she and Hazel would go out.

Just as Mabel thought about taking a break, she saw Wilma looking for her and made her way over. Wilma smiled in excitement and drug her to the bar where they stopped to catch their breath. The bartender tapped Wilma on the shoulder and when she turned with surprise, handed her a fancy looking cocktail.

"From the gentleman," he gestured to the back, and a sharp looking man with a pencil-thin moustache tipped a non-existant hat her way. Wilma gave a cheery wave and raised the accepted glass in a good-natured salute. Then she turned away to take her first drink and focused on Mabel. Mabel struggled to keep the laugh from her lips. Wilma had effectively turned the poor soul down while making him smile and getting a free drink all at the same time.

"Can I get you anything, miss?"

Mabel turned her attention to the bartender and drew a deep breath. "Yes! I'd like a glass of your finest rum, please."

He looked at her doubtfully, but placed a tumbler on the bar and filled it without comment. She paid him and swirled the glass, letting herself smell it first before taking a sip.

"Oh, sweet Lord," Mabel coughed violently into the back of her hand, reaching for her handkerchief from her bag. She hurried to put the glass on the bar, hoping the bartender was out of earshot of her less-than-respectful reaction.

"You alright?" Wilma asked, rushing to Mabel's side and patting her back.

"Oh, that is just bloody awful." Mabel gagged and pushed the glass far away from her. "I will stick to water if that's what they're calling alcohol in this place." She shuddered and Wilma chuckled hesitantly, worry still written on her face. Mabel rolled her eyes to show she was kidding. "I wonder who their supplier is, they should-no, wait, no no nononono, I'm not thinking about work tonight." She grinned at Wilma, who still hadn't lost her look of concern. "I'm alright, honest. So," she changed the subject, turning toward the stage, "tell me you love this band as much as I do."

"Oh, aren't they wonderful?" Wilma shifted her attention from Mabel to the group of men spilling jazz music over the crowd in front of them. "You know, I heard the trombone player is from New Orleans."

"Reeeeeally?" Mabel's eyes lit with interest and she switched to watch the trombone player's dark, handsome face. He must have felt her gaze because he looked up and locked eyes with her. He played on, but didn't break eye contact with Mabel, and she could feel her cheeks heating. She fought a grin at the attention, feeling flustered, and looked at her shoes, her handbag, and the ceiling instead of looking back at him. When her eyes flitted, inevitably, back to his, sure enough, he was still watching her and she blushed even more. She drew a shaky breath and turned to look at Wilma, who was also watching her and smiling, a knowing look in her eyes.

"Want me to find out his name?"

Mabel's smile fell from her lips and gave Wilma an odd look. "No, that's not necessary." The band played the last trill of the song, dragging it out before they shifted into the next number, Mabel took care to turn her back toward the trombone player.

Wilma must have picked up on the shift in Mabel's mood because she dropped it and took one last sip of her drink. "Well, let's dance, then! I've got a curfew, after all."

Mabel was grateful for her ability to let it alone, but she wondered at the comment for the rest of the night. She and Wilma talked about their relationships sparingly, Wilma more than Mabel, and Mabel was very careful about what she said about Alfie. For example, she never said Alfie's name, although it wasn't strictly a secret. She didn't really talk to anyone about the fact that she was sleeping with one of the most dangerous men in London. She also didn't advertise the nature of their relationship, although Wilma knew she was not exactly a blushing virgin. And while she was sure there was plenty of talk out on the floor, she was hoping Wilma was above listening to it. Still, Mabel was very much a one-man-woman, and she had it pretty bad for the grumpy, crusty, sharp-tongued gangster. Was she not advertising her unavailability? Did Alfie worry she was flirting with other men when she went out? _Was_ she flirting with other men? Mabel's stomach churned, and she danced, but her heart was not in it anymore. She kept a smile plastered on her face because she wouldn't let thoughts of a non-present Alfie ruin yet another night. At least, she wouldn't let it appear that way.

Before too long, though, she was begging off with Wilma, complaining of an upset stomach and saying she'd be happy to pay for half of Wilma's cab home. But Wilma gracefully agreed to leave together, kissing the air near her dance partner's cheek and extracting herself from his grasp.

Wilma asked her no less than four times if she was okay, and Mabel assured her each time she was fine, just tired, unused to so much excitement. She gave Wilma a heartfelt hug when the cab dropped her at her front door and assured her she'd be in the next morning, bright and early. When she finally climbed in bed, she practised loading her pistol, the pearl handles warm in her palm and the bullets smooth and familiar. When her eyelids drooped, she set the gun on the bedside table and curled around one pillow, pulling a second against the small of her back. She longed for Alfie's constant warmth pressed against her but eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

She made good on her promise to meet Wilma bright and early the next morning, but she felt, and knew she looked, terrible. Her stomach was still hurting, this time in earnest, and she longed for her bed, even though she'd tossed and turned the previous night.

"Alright, that's it," Wilma announced, entering her office without waiting for an answer to her brisk knock.

Mabel couldn't even summon the energy to make a snarky comment, just waited for Wilma to continue.

"What is going on with you? Are you really that mad at me for last night? Christ, Mabel, it was a joke," Wilma said with exasperation, hands on her hips.

Mabel blinked at her, an odd sense of relief bleeding through her fog. "Oh, it was? I wasn't actually sure..." Mabel trailed off. "To be honest, I'm just feeling a little under the weather today." She offered a shaky smile. "I'm sure I'll be right as rain after I get some lunch." Which was a lie because the word 'lunch' made Mabel's stomach give a precarious lurch.

"Oh," Wilma said, then a little louder, "Oh!"

Mabel looked up, eyebrows drawn together.

"Mabel," Wilma hissed, "you're not pregnant, are you?"

She opened her mouth to protest, then her stomach flip-flopped and she immediately pressed her lips together again. She shook her head sharply at Wilma, her lips frowning her displeasure, but she said nothing else because the floor had just fallen out from underneath her. Because God forbid, what if she _was_? She wasn't though. She furiously pushed down her nausea and tried to count back the days in her head. When had she last had her monthly? _Was_ she? Oh, God, no, NO.

Wilma apologised over and over, her embarrassment plain, and begged Mabel to forget she'd said anything before she excused herself, but the damage was done. Mabel knew, however, she wouldn't be getting anything accomplished today. After an hour of pushing unseen papers around on her desk, she shoved everything in the top drawer and locked up.

She turned the key in the lock on her office door, her damp forehead resting on the cool glass and she took a deep, shuddering breath. She pushed the door open once again. Mabel reached for the phone on her desk and spoke rapid fire into the handset. While she waited to be connected, she shifted her weight from foot to foot and tried to stop her brain from spinning out of control. The back of her hand brushed her skirt and she stilled. Almost of its own accord, her hand drifted to her flat stomach and she spread her fingers over the fabric. Mabel imagined, just for a moment, the swell of a life inside her, the flutter of a kick, the tickle of lips kissing the skin of her swollen abdomen. It was with this image, of Alfie's shaggy head bent reverently over her and the life they'd created, that a brash voice trumpeted in her ear. She almost dropped the telephone she forgot she was holding.

"Oh, hello, Rachel? Yes, it's Mabel Ziemann. Hello dear, how are you? That's wonderful, I'm so glad to hear it. Yes, you can stop by next week if you have time. No, I'd be happy to, we can go over it together. Next Friday would be wonderful. Well, no, as a matter of fact, I wasn't calling to check up on you." Mabel huffed a laugh and clenched her fist to stop it from shaking. "I wanted to find out which doctor's office your friend, the nurse, worked at." She had a hundred excuses why she might need the nurse's information, but held her breath to keep the unnecessary explanations from spilling out and looking suspicious. The blood rushing in her ears was so loud she almost missed Rachel's reply.

"She doesn't? She's a _midwife_?!" Mabel blinked at the coincidence and rushed to reassure Rachel that, "No, no, it's fine, I can just visit her there, that's not a problem." She wrote down the name and address of, "huh... Nonnartus House."

.

.

A/N: For those of you who watch "Call the Midwife", this is a respectful nod to the show and not an actual crossover. I'm fudging the timeline by about 30 years or so anyway. And hats off to anyone who caught the reference in my original story to those amazing ladies!


	31. DIY EPT

Hello, lovely readers! Two chapters in one day, because why the hell not? It was a long weekend and it's not like I have any kind of a posting schedule anyway. It's sort of "when I get them done". Un-beta'd, so be kind. Enjoy!

Mabel glared at the intimidating and uncomfortably non-Jewish building in front of her and a wave of nausea washed over her again. She blew out a shaky breath and tried not to appear as if she was talking to herself as she squeezed her eyes shut. _"Get it together, Mabe. Calm down. Now walk up the steps. You can do this. This isn't a plank you have to walk. The other end won't change the way it is right now, it'll only change your understanding of the way it is right now. So there's nothing scary about going up the steps. Because... because..."_ Mabel huffed on a sob and clenched her fists. _"Because the scariest part is what's inside you right now."_

As she was convincing herself that it didn't matter when she went in because it would still be true tomorrow if it was true right now so she might as well go now since she was already here, the door cracked open. A panic gripped her insides so fierce Mabel only just kept from bolting down the sidewalk. It was the sense of propriety instilled in her by her mother, and the thought of her mother on top of that which kept her rooted to the spot. A nun of indeterminate age came out and stopped in front of her, her hands folded somewhere inside her robes. _"Is there a pocket in there somewhere? Or a muff? Does she have some kind of crochet pattern going on under there?"_

"You have been standing out here for ten minutes. The girls are taking bets on whether you're coming in at all," the woman said, her kind eyes crinkling at the corners.

It was the sight of the crinkles, which so reminded her of Alfie, that jolted her out of her stupor. Mabel took a breath and pasted on a smile. "And what did you bet?"

"My dear," the woman reproached. "I am a nun. I do not gamble." She lifted her chin haughtily and Mabel's jaw dropped open in shame.

"Oh," she stammered, "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"It's alright, quite alright. I was joking. I said you were coming in, of course. Why else would I be out here if not to lure you inside?"

Mabel's sense of relief at her teasing was almost palpable, and she sagged as a chuckle was drug out of her. Mabel knew little about nuns, but the lady in front of her was gracious and approachable. Mabel had the odd urge to lean in for a hug and a good cry.

"How can I help you, my child?" she murmured, and Mabel almost _did_ cry.

"I need to know..." at the last second, Mabel realised they were still standing on the street and finished with, "if I can come inside to ask some questions."

"Of course," she said, ducking her head, and led the way up the steps. Mabel followed on legs that were not quite as shaky as they had been moments before.

When they breached the shadowy interior and Mabel's eyes adjusted, she did see a group of women inside. Some were dressed as nurses, some as nuns, but all of them looking at her. One, a blonde nurse in the back scowling at her, Mabel recognised as Rachel's friend.

"Nurse Franklin," the nun announced, her voice soft and accommodating outside was commanding and powerful in the hallway, "this woman has come inside to ask a few questions."

"Yes, I can see that," the blonde replied, still scowling in the face of the nun's benevolent smile. Mabel wondered at her rudeness until Nurse Franklin handed over a one pound note from the front of her uniform. Then she gestured with a graceful tilt of her head to have Mabel follow her. Mabel complied, clutching her purse with both hands and staring at the back of Nurse Franklin's heels. She was led into a bright open room, half of which contained chairs adorned with waiting women in various stages of pregnancy. The other half was filled with makeshift stalls divided by fabric partitions. Alfie would be in a black rage if he found out she was here. A non-Jewish doctor, a clinic instead of a private practice, a bloody gymnasium instead of a small room with no windows or wagging tongues. Which, of course, was what made it so appealing in the first place, because he wouldn't think to check here, but Mabel was starting to regret this decision.

Nurse Franklin must have sensed her hesitation because she checked back on her as Mabel paused at the edge of the room. "Come along, we don't bite."

Mabel tried to smile, she really did, but what came out instead was, "I'm sorry, but is there somewhere more private?"

Nurse Franklin stilled, considered Mabel, then said, "No."

Mabel stilled too, and fixed the shorter woman with a hard look. "I'm telling you this is a sensitive conversation and it would be safer for everyone involved if they were not privy to this."

Nurse Franklin was no dummy. She smiled, not unkindly, and lowered her voice. "I can assure you we have the highest confidentiality possible, for your safety," she glanced at Mabel's abdomen, "and everyone else's."

Mabel felt a little better but glanced around at the other women waiting their turn, her nerves on edge. Nurse Franklin noticed her gaze and reached out to place her hand over Mabel's.

"They have bigger things on their minds, let me assure you."

And sure enough, each woman was reading a pamphlet, looking after a little one, or lost in her own thoughts. No one paid Mabel the slightest attention, and a little more tension bled out of her. Her lips thinned with determination, then she nodded at Nurse Franklin who smiled at her in return and led her behind a partition.

Mabel froze again when faced with an exam table, a chair, and a stool intended for the doctor.

"Take a seat, please," Nurse Franklin said, all business, and motioned, thankfully, towards the chair. Mabel sank into it and tried not to fidget.

"Will we be needing an exam today?" Nurse Franklin asked, picking up a clipboard from the small table, and Mabel had never been more out-of-her-element in her life.

She stuttered out, "I don't... I mean... I'm not sure how you..." then, in a rush, "I need to know if I'm pregnant."

Nurse Franklin jotted a note, and said, "Then let's start with an exam and see how we do, hmm?"

Mabel nodded, her neck stiff, and squeaked out a soft, "Okay."

She handed Mabel a gown. "Take off _all_ of your clothes," she stressed, "then put this on, it ties in the front like a robe. The doctor will see you shortly."

Mabel nodded jerkily again, then struggled to do as she was told. Her limbs were awkward, and while she wasn't normally self-conscious, she had never felt more naked, even when covered as well as possible with the gown.

When the dark-haired doctor slid back the curtain, followed by Nurse Franklin, Mabel wasn't sure if she was grateful the wait was over or not. He said hello politely and gave his name, which Mabel promptly forgot, then skipped any other idle chatter and directed her where to lie. He settled himself between her raised knees, and she shot a panicky glance at Nurse Franklin when she felt his icy hand on the inside of her thigh. The blonde woman gave her an encouraging nod, which helped not at all, and when he breached Mabel with his unfamiliar fingers, her bum inched up the exam table to escape his uncomfortable prodding touch.

"Almost done," he muttered, placing his palm on the soft curve of her stomach, right above her thatch of dark curls and pressing slightly.

Mabel didn't care if he was almost done. She would _never_ come back here, she would _never_ subject herself to this again, she had never been more humiliated and poked at in her life-

"Very good," the doctor said, withdrawing his fingers all at once. Mabel sat up, slamming her knees together and drawing the gown around her as closely as possible.

"What's very good?" she asked in a small voice.

The doctor looked surprised at the question as he washed his hands in the nearby basin. "I mean you seem healthy," he explained.

Mabel couldn't help the flare of confusion and frustration in her gut. "But am I pregnant?"

The doctor blinked at her before giving a quick glare at Nurse Franklin, who returned it with a bland look and a raised eyebrow. He turned back to Mabel, rolling his sleeves down and re-seating himself on the stool, this time, a safe distance away. "If you are pregnant, uh, Mrs Smith," he said, glancing down at the clipboard, "it's too soon for me to tell." He tried to look reassuring. "When did you last have your monthly cycle?"

Mabel's cheeks heated as her head dropped and she muttered, "I'm not exactly sure..."

The doctor was unperturbed. "And when were you and your husband last sexually active?"

Could her cheeks _get_ any redder? "Um...I believe it was a few weeks ago."

The doctor nodded and smiled benignly. "Well, at this point, we'll just need to play a little game I call "Let's Wait and See", hmm? You'll find out soon enough. Mother Nature will tell you, one way or another."

Mabel stared at him. He couldn't be serious. There was no way she went through all that, only to be told he had no idea what he was doing. Her anger built inside her. Was this some kind of free peep show for him?

As she was about to open her mouth and give him a piece of her mind, Nurse Franklin stepped forward and gripped Mabel's upper arm, _hard._

"Thank you, Doctor, I'm sure Mrs Smith is pleased to hear she's healthy. I can finish up here."

He nodded and exited, and Mabel turned to Rachel's friend furiously. "He just-"

"Does he ejaculate inside of you?"

Mabel's eyes flew wide in alarm and she literally forgot what she was going to say. "...what?"

Nurse Franklin looked at her with patience. "That means when he-"

"I know what it means!" Mabel said, too loud, then clamped her mouth shut. She'd never heard the word before, but she could figure it out. Lord, no wonder she didn't have enough blood flow for her higher brain functions, it was all in her face. She tried to calm herself down, unclenching her fists and wiping her sweaty skin on the thin fabric covering her thighs. "Sometimes, but not usually," she finally admitted, although she couldn't meet the nurse's gaze when she said it.

"Well, if you are pregnant, you're not very pregnant. You have lots of time before you start to show, and lots of time to figure out how to tell him." Nurse Franklin took Mabel's hand and Mabel raised her dark eyes to the nurse's blue ones. "If you're not pregnant and you'd like to continue to be, you need to change the "not usually" to "not ever". That's what does it."

She waited for Mabel's hesitant nod before continuing. "I had him examine you so you'd know if you were healthy," answering Mabel's unasked question. "If you're pregnant, there's no reason the baby won't be as well. If you're not pregnant," she said, caution in her tone, "there's no reason you can't become so."

Understanding flooded Mabel and something dark uncoiled from her heart. _"Fear,_ " she realised, _"I was afraid of what I didn't know."_ She recognised, then, what Nurse Franklin had given her, and was so very grateful. "Thank you," she said with sincerity.

Nurse Franklin nodded and moved to the small table. "Here are pamphlets on the first trimester, some do's and don't's about getting ready for baby. that kind of thing." She looked at Mabel knowingly. "If you'd like, you can take a few minutes to read them over now, in case you'd rather leave them here."

Mabel flashed her a small, cheerless smile and nodded. The smaller woman patted her knee. "I'm here if you need anything, and if you _do_ , I want you to come back here. Okay?"

All she could do was offer the same smile and shrug, not making any promises. She could guess what Alfie's reaction to a baby would be, and it wouldn't involve shaggy heads bent reverently over abdomens. She would just have to do as the doctor suggested, and "wait and see."

.

.

.

A/N: The pregnancy test we know and love today wasn't invented until the early '70's. Prior to that, scientists discovered a way to test for hCG in women's urine, but not until 1928, and it involved some pretty serious animal cruelty. Before _that,_ doctors had no scientific way of knowing and usually suggested the "wait and see" method. So next time you pee on a stick, give a cheer for some fairly modern medicine that allows you to do so, whatever the results.

PS. Mass distribution of home pregnancy tests was delayed by sixxxxx yearssssss in the United Stated due to "concerns over sexual morality and the ability of women to perform the test and cope with the results without a doctor". Holy fucking shit.


	32. DIY Nursemaid

A/N: If you're still reading this, thanks for sticking with me! Mabel and Alfie mean a lot to me, but sometimes real life takes precedence, dang it anyway. Anyway, hope you like this installment, unbeta'd so if you see something, let me know!

* * *

"Fuck this whole day," Alfie muttered as his car's engine refused to turn over, again. He kept from beating his fists raw against the inanimate object only because they were already raw from beating a few animate objects earlier in the day. This was definitely one for the books. What a perfect fucking storm.

The tobacco deal was in the middle of falling through, and he wasn't sure he could save it in time for the rest of the deals he'd made to work out. He was working a precise juggling act and he'd just dropped a major ball today. He'd screamed his bloody head off, he'd beaten one man unconscious, and he'd instructed Abe to throw a second out the window. Alfie strongly suspected that Abe simply showed him the door, but at that point, as long as he didn't have to look at his stupid WOP face again, he'd have been happy.

He wanted a glass of rum and a brawl and a fuck and a ten hour nap, not necessarily in that order. But it didn't make any bloody difference what he wanted if he couldn't get his STUPID BLOODY CAR TO RUN. Fuck! He slammed the cover closed, kicked the tire for good measure, and started on the three mile walk home. He was tired, he was cranky, he ached everywhere, and he hadn't seen Mabel in two fucking weeks. He needed her like a balm, his good sense started to diminish the longer he went without her. He reminded himself not to let her out of his sight once this cursed deal finally finished, whatever the outcome.

He wouldn't admit it, but the walk actually served to cut through the angry chatter in his head and burn off the rage energy that seared along his veins. By the time he got to his own front door, he wasn't anything but exhausted and resigned. He'd take a good night's sleep over a lot of things, but tonight above all. He entered the darkened house and Peaches greeted him, whining her hello, her entire body shaking with excitement at seeing him.

"Hello, girl," he murmured, crouching to scratch her and getting licked on every available centimeter of skin by a warm, sloppy tongue. Her high whines continued as she struggled not to bark her happiness at his arrival. She knew he didn't approve and she was trying so hard to be good. Alfie's heart lightened as Peaches' back end writhed with the force of her tail whipping back and forth. She was a good dog, and he told her so. It was nice to be welcomed home. As he stood to take off his coat, Peaches' whines increased and he watched her pace back and forth towards the hall, her big eyes asking him to follow.

Alfie hung his coat and hat, his forehead wrinkled with concern. As soon as he moved toward her, Peaches scampered off down the hall and as he neared the loo, Alfie heard movement from inside.

"Mabe? 'Sat you?" he called through the door.

"Yeah," came the weak reply and Alfie's concern spiked.

He paused, unsure how to proceed, and settled on asking, "You alright?"

"No," Mabel moaned, and Alfie almost ripped the door off the hinges in his haste to get to her.

He found her kneeling in front of the toilet basin, her dress sweat stained and her damp hair falling out of its pins. The smell of vomit hit him in the face like a towel and he staggered back.

"Fuckin' hell," he grumbled, backtracking as his own gorge rose.

He was answered by another volley of vomiting as Mabel retched into the toilet. Alfie could feel his own gag reflex working in response and he didn't _scurry_ out of the room, because gangsters didn't _scurry_ , so much as they beat a hasty and respectable retreat.

Which left him standing in the hallway, his own sweat prickling uncomfortably on his skin, and the dog still whining high and miserable. He had no idea what to do. He had never, ever had anyone throwing up in his toilet that wasn't him, and it was usually because he'd had too much to drink.

When Mabel moaned, "Go away, Peach," Alfie jumped on it, because _that_ he could do.

"Come on, girl," he commanded, probably too loudly, and ushered her into the back garden. He contemplated staying out there with her but decided he was being a coward and ducked back in the house.

He tried to decide what he would want if he were the one kneeling on the floor and settled on a glass of water and a damp cloth. One in each hand, he approached the bathroom like it was enemy territory.

Mabel was still on the floor, but her head was tipped back and her eyes were closed, and she looked like she might be done for the moment. She'd already pulled the chain to flush the mess, for which he was grateful, and he stood by her awkwardly and thrust the cloth in her direction.

"Here."

Mabel cracked an eyelid and took the cloth to wipe her face and neck with a sigh, then accepted the glass when he shoved it towards her. Now his hands felt too big and too empty again, but she looked thankful as she took small, careful sips. She handed them back, and he was glad to have something to do with his hands.

"You sick?" Alfie asked, his concern making his voice gruff and off-putting, even to him. "Should I call a doctor?" he amended.

"No, I'll be okay."

He watched Mabel push against the floor, frowning as he saw her arms shaking. He'd never seen her this weak before. It was disconcerting.

"Can you..." she said in a small voice, then huffed a laugh. "Can you help me up?"

Alfie jumped guiltily, realising he was staring at her like an idiot while she was struggling to stand. He helped her up, getting her wobbly legs under her and walked her toward the bedroom.

"No, no, not your beautiful bed, I can sleep on the sofa," Mabel protested, and Alfie grunted, "Shut up," and mercifully, she did. He laid her on her side of the bed, then put the glass on the table next to her. He wasn't positive, but she may have been asleep before he finished pulling off her shoes and spreading the afghan over her. He smoothed back her hair, pulling a few pins carefully from the curls and setting them next to the glass, and knew that he was stalling. He wasn't sure if he should believe her that she wasn't sick, but, with a sigh, noticed how late it was and left her so she could get some rest.

He let the dog in, gathered linens from the closet and sighed again as he looked at the stiff, uncomfortable sofa. It wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind for the night, but it was par for the course with the rest of the day he'd had. Peaches circled and settled on the floor as he punched pillows and tried to get comfortable. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

It wasn't.

He was wakened far too early by Rowena, positive he was dead or dying since he was lying on the sofa in the living room. He got up, checked on Mabel, who was still dead to the world, and tried to rub the stiffness out of his neck while he made a few phone calls.

He called Abe first, telling him to get someone to fix the car he'd left at the office, then send someone to pick him up.

"What do you mean, "There's no car out front"?" Alfie thundered. "There _is_ a car out front, because I bloody well left it there last night." He hung up and threw the closest thing at hand, a book, across the room. "FUCK!"

Then he took a deep breath and picked up the phone again. This time, he dialed the bakery.

"I need to speak to Wilma Fitzgerald." He waited while someone fetched her, picking up the book and replacing it on the desk.

"Mrs Fitzgerald? Yes, I needed to let you know that Mabel won't be in today, she's not feeling well."

"Who is this?" came the hesitant voice on the other end.

Alfie didn't answer, just let the silence stretch. "Did you get the Hawthorne order out?"

There was a pause. "Not... yet."

"Do it. She'll expect it finished by the time she gets back."

"And when might that be, sir?"

Alfie ignored the sarcasm on the final word and answered, "Don't you worry about that, sweetheart. You worry about that Hawthorne order." He hung up before she could reply.

After he got ready and ate some breakfast, ("Don't wolf it down like that, sir, you'll give yourself a belly ache,") he went to check on Mabel again. He found her sitting on the edge of the bed trying to put on her shoes and failing.

"Alright now, that's enough of that." He took the shoes from her hand and placed them carefully under the chair again. Mabel protested weakly, but allowed him to undo the buttons on the back of her dress. "I called the bakery, you're not going in today."

"Oh, Alfie, I _have_ to go, there's so much-"

"Wilma will get the Hawthorne order out, don't worry about it." He pulled the dress over her head and folded it on the chair.

Mabel blinked at him as she crawled beneath the covers in her underthings, goosebumps forming in the early morning air. Alfie was too much of a bastard not to enjoy the sight, even if she was sick. "How did you know?" she asked, her eyes bleary and drooping already.

"Tomorrow's the last day of the month, innit?" He tucked the afghan under her chin. "It hasn't changed so much since I've been there."

Mabel snorted softly, eyes slipping closed. He kissed her forehead, just a brush of lips, really, and muttered, "Get some rest, love. Work will be there when you're well."

Mabel mumbled something that sounded like, "pretty sure I'm dying," but he was pretty sure she wasn't.

—

Until he got back that night, and she was still in bed.

When he first got home, he noticed her coat on the rack and smiled. Peaches was there to greet him, but Mabel hadn't come to the door so he went to find her. He found her spread out over his bed, lying on her stomach and displaying an obscene amount of leg. She had changed into one of his old shirts, which hit her at the thighs, and she must have gotten warm because she'd pushed the duvet and afghan to the foot of the bed. His first thought was that she looked good enough to eat, and, God help him, his trousers started to get a little tight. It had been weeks, and he was not a patient man. But when he got closer to her, he realized that her pale beauty in the moonlight was a little too pale. And her curly hair was actually curled with sweat and lying limply along her brow. He could see her back rising and falling, her breathing shallow and fast, and the warm pool of arousal in stomach quickly turned to an icy pit of fear. She wasn't lying in his bed to welcome him home, she'd been there all day. He tried to get a handle on the panic that was clawing its way up his throat.

"Mabe?" he asked, embarrassed by how needy he sounded and cleared his throat.

She stirred, faintly, and cracked an eyelid and Alfie's heart started beating again.

"You alright, Mabe? Are you sick?"

A frown appeared between her eyebrows and she shook her head, a faint back and forth. "Must have been somthin' I ate," she mumbled. The frown stayed put, and Alfie knew she was doubting the validity of what she'd just said. His heartbeat was still working because he could hear it in his ears and feel it in the tips of his fingers when he bushed the hair off her forehead and checked for a temperature.

"Mmph," he grunted. "Alright, come on, we're going to a doctor."

He watched her eyes fly wide and she tried to sit up. "No, no, I'm sure that's not necessary, it was just something that didn't sit right with me. It'll pass."

Alfie crossed his arms and fixed her with a glare. "Mabel. Look at yourself. What could you possibly have eaten that did this to you?"

Mabel's face flew through a series of expressions, too fast for him to catalog, but the strongest and final emotion was confusion.

"I..."

Alfie waited, but she genuinely seemed to be struggling to answer. "What was the last thing you ate?"

"I... " she tried, "Yesterday? I think? I had lunch at the bakery before we went to the..." she trailed off and her eyes sought Alfie's, a strange look on her face.

"Before you went where, Mabe?" Alfie tried to maintain his patience. "What did you eat that "didn't sit right"?"

"No, nothing I ate," she whispered, barely loud enough to hear and Alfie knelt down next to the bed and she looked at him with something like fear. "Something I drank."

Alfie sat back on his heels, confusion and worry battling for dominance in his head. "You drank too much?" That was... odd. Mabel was generally a sleepy drunk, giggly and warm, and he'd tucked her in a few times, but he'd never picked her up off the floor.

Mabel sat up, shaking her head. "No, thank goodness," she said thoughtfully. "I wonder..." she looked at Alfie, gauging his reaction, "I wonder if someone put something in my drink."

"What," Alfie intoned, his voice flat and his blood boiling.

"Something about the way it tasted, kind of chalky," she said. "I thought it was just bad rum, but now..."

"Who bought it for you?" Alfie asked, standing and reaching for the gun he left in the bedside table.

Mabel put her hand on his arm and glared. "I bought it myself, thank you very much."

Alfie's lips twitched up at the indignation in her voice as he checked to make sure it was loaded before he shoved it in his waistband. "Then all those men are idiots. Where were you?"

Mabel hesitated and his face warned her not to mess with him. She reluctantly told him the name of the club and he nodded once. He pressed a quick kiss to her temple. "Stay here."

"Alfie..." he heard her call as he strode out of the room, but he didn't stay to listen. He spoke quickly into the phone in the front room, put Peaches in the back garden and left in a swirl of greatcoat.

* * *

Mabel heard him on the phone but didn't know who he was talking to and made to stand and follow him. He didn't need to storm off with a gun every time she...

 _"Okay, apparently I'm not standing to follow him,'_ she thought as she crashed back onto the bed, her legs wobbly and her arms shaking. She blew out a breath as a wave of dizziness swept over her ands he squeezed her eyes shut. _'I'm just going to lie down for a few minutes, he'll be right back and I can talk to him then.'_ Then the front door slammed shut and she let all the fight drain out of her.

 _'Damn him,'_ she thought, sinking back into the bed. _'He never listens to me.'_ She refused to acknowledge the voice in the back of her head reminding her of all the times he'd listened to her in the past, taking her word for it when he didn't take _anyone's_ word for it. She fought sleep for about ten seconds before it pulled her back under.

She was shaken awake by Rowena, even though she couldn't tell it was Rowena right away because she was being gentle and speaking softly.

"Och, lassie, yer doctor's 'ere."

"Hmm?" Mabel tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes and focus on the grey-haired woman in front of her. "Doctor?"

A proper Jewish doctor appeared magically over Rowena's left shoulder and Mabel tried to sit up and make herself presentable. He went through the motions of listening to her heart and looking in her eyes before handing over a bottle of ipecac and giving a hesitantly hovering Rowena instructions on how often to administer it. Mabel glared at the bottle and tried to forget she was lying in Alfie's bed wearing nothing but his old shirt in front of these people.

Once he left, Mabel agreed to be helped to the loo by Rowena, where she was mercilessly fed the medicine. She spent the next hour on her hands and knees retching up every last bit of bile and water in her.

Finally, _finally,_ it stopped and she staggered back to bed, mostly under her own power and accepted the headache powder and water Rowena gave her. She started to feel a little better, curled on her side and staring into the dark.

"Rowena?" she inquired into the stillness.

"Aye, lassie. I'm here. Wha' do ya need?"

The older woman smoothed the sheets around her and Mabel felt the hot prick of tears threaten. It was only under the safety of darkness that Mabel could confess, "I'm scared."

Rowena's hands paused in their ministrations, then continued, more assertive than before. "Ach, lassie. It's just a wee bit of vomit. Nothin' to be a'scairt of."

Mabel sniffled and braced herself. "I'm scared it's going to hurt the baby."

She heard the sharp intake of breath and Rowena's hands left completely, then gripped her by the shoulder and forced Mabel to roll and face her. Her face was stony, no emotion present, but Mabel thought she heard a wobble in her voice. "A bairn? Truly?"

Mabel shrugged. "I'm not sure. The doctor said to wait and see. I was feeling poorly and someone suggested it, and now I can't stop thinking about it." Mabel felt a little better, just having said something. It had been weighing on her, the not knowing, the inability to _do_ something about it, and she was sick of it. Saying it out loud made in concrete, something she could acknowledge and move forward with.

"Alfie-"

"He doesn't know," Mabel interrupted, fidgeting with the blanket covering her. "I wanted to wait until I knew for sure, but I couldn't just..."

"I understand."

Mabel looked up at her sharp words and was met with soft eyes that said they truly did understand, maybe better than she herself did. "Do you have children, Rowena?" The thought had never crossed Mabel's mind before, but now she believed Rowena must have some experience with what she was feeling.

A flash of pain so intense it was almost tangible crossed Rowena's features before she glanced down and fussed with the duvet, smoothing and re-smoothing.

"Not anymore."

"Oh," came Mabel's soft reply. She had no words, nothing that could comfort her, but she reached out and grasped her hand anyway.

Rowena nodded crisply, a sharp sniff accompanying the squeeze she gave Mabel's fingers. "War is a terrible thing," she said, then rose and left the room without another word.

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Alfie remarked, studying his fingernails. "You saw nothing, you know nothing, you are," he shifted his weight, a groan sounding below him, "nothing. Is that about right?"

The bartender with Alfie's cane pressed against his Adam's apple couldn't exactly speak, but Alfie had already heard everything he'd had to say. At this point, Alfie was simply allowing himself to release his frustrations. He'd served Mabel the drink using a glass he'd been instructed to use. He didn't know who'd given him the glass, he didn't know what was in the glass, he only knew that it was his daughter's teddy bear that had been thrown on the bar before the demands had been made.

Alfie let that last part roll around in his head. The Blinders didn't play those games, thought they were too classy. The Russians definitely did, but they weren't in town anymore, they'd made sure of it. Hmm. Whoever it was, they either hadn't cared or just hadn't cared to inform the bartender that Alfie's justice was harsh and swift.

He relaxed the cane, listening to the bartender suck in a breath.

"Well, I'm glad we got that straight."

Then he pulled the gun from his trousers and shot the man between the eyes.

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Alfie remarked, studying his fingernails. "You fixed the engine, you took it for a joy ride, and then you replaced it nicely where you found it."

"I didn't know it was yours!" The young man in front of him was half indignant and half terrified. "Honestly, Mr Solomons, if I'd known it was your car I wouldn't have touched it."

"Is that a fact?"

Vigorous nodding.

"So it's my responsibility to make sure everyone knows which car is mine, is that it?"

Vigorous head shaking.

Alfie rested his hand on the drawer of his desk. "Well, I'm glad we got that straight."

"Wait, Mr Solomons!" the lad waved a hand to get his attention and Alfie took a good look at his hands. Alfie always noticed hands. They could tell you a lot: the way they fidgeted, where they strayed to, what they were used to doing. And these hands were those of a working man. The boy couldn't have been more than 14, but his hands already told the story of a provider. His hands made Alfie pause.

"Well, go on. I'm waiting," he finally prompted when the boy stayed quiet.

"Well, uh... I was just thinking that maybe you could use my help, you know?" The hard-working hands wiped themselves on a pair of worn trousers that had seen better days. He started to sniffle, despite his obvious desire to stay strong. "With your cars, I mean. I can fix about anything, and I wouldn't charge you nothin', it'd be like me payin' you back." His voice started to wobble and he wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Alfie arched an eyebrow and tossed a handkerchief at him. He watched him blow his nose, thinking.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Joshua," he parroted. "Sir."

"And how many people are you providing for, Joshua?"

Joshua clenched the handkerchief in his fists, all senses alert. He answered carefully. "My, uh... my mother takes care of us, sir, but there's five of us kids, so we all help out where we can."

"And let me guess. You help out by stealing cars?"

Joshua gulped but said nothing.

"Who do you steal them for?"

He didn't say anything again and Alfie felt his patience snap.

"Joshua, let me tell you how this is going to work. You're new to this world, so I'll explain it using small, primary school words so your little baby brain can understand." Alfie could see his back stiffen at the goading. "I'm going to threaten you with the gun that is in this drawer," Alfie pulled out the drawer and let it hang there, a promise. "Then you are going to tell me who you are stealing the cars for so that I don't shoot you with it, so that you can go home to your mum and your 4 siblings and continue being able to fix about anything."

Alfie settled both hands on top of the desk and leaned forward. "And if you don't, I'm going to shoot you in the head, and then I'm going to get on this phone right here and call the cops. And when they get here, I'm going to explain that you stole my property and I was within my legal right to protect myself and my belongings."

Alfie watched Joshua hold his breath as he leaned even further forward. "And then they'll shake my hand and thank them for taking one more delinquent off the street, and your mum will have one less mouth to feed, and my world will continue on without a single hitch, do you understand me."

The goading at the beginning had done it's job of shutting off the water works, so while Joshua looked plenty intimidated, he wasn't crying.

"I can't tell you who I steal the cars for," he started, and Alfie pulled the gun out of the drawer. "But that's only because I don't know," he hurried to explain. "I can tell you who I take them to though."

Alfie put the gun back in the drawer, and Joshua gave them a name of a local junkyard and a low-level thug that ran it. Alfie narrowed his eyes at Joshua, but he assured him that was all he knew and Alfie was inclined to believe him.

"Give your address to the girl at the front on your way out. If I need you, you'll make yourself available. Understand?"

Joshua nodded and placed the handkerchief, now crumpled beyond repair, on his desk. He stood and excused himself, hurrying out the door, and Alfie caught Abe's eye and nodded. Abe nodded back and followed him. It was understood that Abe would check him out, make sure his story held up, make sure he wasn't in anyone's pocket. Alfie himself pulled the phone closer to him, because he had a junkyard to follow up on. Which, of course, he would get to. Just as soon as he made sure Mabel was okay.


	33. DIY Informant

Alfie had informants everywhere, that was the thing. He paid good money for information, and he liked to think because of it, he knew everything that went on in Camden. Which was why it was bloody annoying that Joshua, the kid he'd "hired" yesterday, was the key to unlocking why his fucking tobacco deal was falling through so spectacularly.

"Billy Hill."

"Yeah, boss," Abe confirmed.

"Billy fucking Hill," Alfie said again. "That's who's buying stolen cars from scrawny Jewish teenagers."

"Yeah, boss," Abe agreed.

"That same Billy Hill is fucking me over on shipping and possibly sending my business down the fucking drain. That Billy Hill."

Abe kept his mouth shut, a wise decision.

What burned Alfie up was that he hadn't seen it coming. He had seen the _possibility_ of failure of his new venture, and had done everything in his considerable power to make it happen anyway. However, it had not gone well. Alfie had sunk money into a new source of income that relied on overseas transport, and he'd bought, cajoled, stolen and threatened all the pieces but that one. And now, thanks to one snot-nosed fuck hole, Alfie might lose the lot because he couldn't get the shipments to and from without say-so. Which he didn't have. Short of building his own boat, dock, port, and harbour, (which he had briefly looked into,) he wasn't moving merchandise off this bloody island.

Billy Hill, the gangster and shipping magnate, held the corner of the illegal tobacco market along with shipping said tobacco and he wasn't interested in sharing. He had also, Alfie found out, been expanding his own business ventures. He now shipped stolen car parts overseas, ran nightclubs, and dabbled in racketeering. Essentially, he was a well-connected bloody rich kid who was becoming a pain in Alfie's arse.

"Abe," Alfie started, "I don't like Billy fucking Hill." He stood, pulling on his hat and coat. "He's got his fingers in too many pies and he needs to get his hand slapped."

"Yeah, boss."

"Tomorrow, we deal with Billy fucking Hill," Alfie declared. "Today we deal with Tommy fucking Shelby. Remind me to spread this shite out a bit next time."

Abe smirked and pulled on his own coat. "Yeah, boss."

* * *

Alfie had been planning this meeting for two weeks. He had a guard set up on every block to and from the warehouse they were meeting. Tommy had said alone and unarmed, so Abe would be with him, of course, and Alfie didn't go anywhere without his brass headed cane. This was all part of the back and forth he and Tommy did. He also knew that Tommy would have backup with him, and he'd have a gun on him somewhere, although Alfie trusted Abe with that part of it today. If Tommy patted him down, he wanted to be able to throw it in his pretty boy face.

Alfie had no idea what the fuck the Blinders were up to these days, probably something far more complicated and involved than it needed to be. The man just wouldn't quit while he was ahead, and a man like that made enemies wherever he turned and Alfie had his own problems. But, for all that, Tommy's payouts were large and on the rare occasions he got a telegram, Alfie didn't turn him down.

Today it was simple information. Alfie had people run it down on his side of the tracks, easy enough for him and right difficult for any of the Blinders to do themselves-Alfie made sure of it. He wasn't going to stick his hand in whatever finger-grinding machine Tommy was building, but Tommy would be right fucked if he thought Alfie was letting him build it in his territory.

The warehouse was out of the way for both of them, which was fine with Alfie, and empty when he walked in, Abe at his heels. The similarity to the warehouse where Georgie met his end was eerie, but Alfie had no intention of letting something like that go down again. He had granted the Peaky Blinders a remission for good behaviour, but there were days Alfie wouldn't mind seeing pieces of them floating down the Thames. God, but he didn't love poking at the oldest one, though. One of these days he'd poke him hard enough he'd snap, and that would be a day. Tommy would hate it, but he'd stand behind his dumb shite of a brother, and then all hell would break loose. Maybe he'd catch him on a good day and Alfie would laugh, or maybe he'd catch him on a bad day, and Alfie would rain fire down upon their fucking sodomite heads.

"Well, Tommy, I see you rolled out the red carpet for me this time, 's very nice, this hellhole of a warehouse," Alfie bitched out loud.

"Shut it, Alfie," Tommy Shelby said calmly. Alfie swivelled at his voice and watched him stride into the warehouse from the opposite end. He was alone, his long coat billowing out behind him as he walked. He looked like he was in a hurry which, of course, meant Alfie would make this last as long as humanly possible.

Alfie's eyes crinkled at the edges and Tommy glared slightly before the cool, flat mask slid back in place. "What have you got for me?" he demanded of Alfie.

"Oh, just the usual errand boy things you have me doing. I gotta say, this is usually not the kind of work I take in, Mr Shelby, I would have expected-"

"I said, 'Shut it, Alfie'," Tommy clipped. "Do you have it or not?"

Alfie narrowed his eyes at Tommy, studying the man in front of him and letting him sweat for a few beats. It wouldn't do to let Tommy Shelby throw his weight around with no consequences. On the other hand, Alfie was willing to pick his battles. Eventually, he shrugged. "Aye, I've got it." He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the single folded piece of paper, presenting it to Tommy.

Tommy took it and presented the roll of pound notes, not bothering to check the information first. Alfie pocketed the money, which he grossly overcharged for and which Tommy hadn't batted an eye at. Hmm. This whole transaction stank like Gypsy fuckary. He waited for the other shoe that he anticipated dropping any moment.

Tommy extended his hand and Alfie hesitated a moment before taking it. Tommy Shelby was a man who didn't do something without a reason, and he rarely shook hands. Alfie took it though and shook hard, twice, but as he pulled away, Tommy squinted at him, studying him. He parted his lips, drew a breath as if to say something, then thought better of it and shook his head.

"What." Alfie couldn't stop himself from asking, annoyance in every letter.

Tommy gave a nonchalant frown, returning his hands to his pockets and shrugging slightly. "Probably none of my business."

Alfie held absolutely still, his teeth clenched and his eyebrows furrowed. Then, like a switch had been thrown, he spun on his heel. "Probably not. Come on, Abe." They were halfway across the warehouse before Tommy Shelby's quiet voice stopped them.

"Although..."

Alfie sighed and turned back to face him. "Out with it, gyp-o, I don't play fucking games with you."

"Yes, you do," came Tommy's succinct answer.

Alfie tried not to sneer. "What do you fucking want, Tommy?"

Tommy's smug smile was infuriating and a good thing to see from halfway across a warehouse instead of right in front of him. Otherwise, he might have to punch it off his bloody face and where would that leave them as far as relationship building went?

"It's about your woman."

Alfie froze for a moment before stalking toward Tommy fucking Shelby and getting in his face.

"My what?"

"You know, the one who runs your bakery. The one you're fucking. Mabel, isn't-"

"No, uh uh," Alfie shook his head, scowling. "You don't get to say her name."

Tommy smiled at him again. "Fair enough."

Alfie waited a moment, balling and un-balling his fists. "What about her?" he asked as calmly as he could manage.

Tommy took the time to light a cigarette before he answered. "Is she still having trouble getting her shipments on time?"

Alfie said nothing.

"Because if she is, you should probably check into that. See, I believe she's having the same issues as the ones I'm using for my shipments to the States. Billy Hill has been fucking up my life, and I have a hard time believing he's not fucking your life up too. They started out trying to find out if there were any connections between our two companies by making errors on both our shipments and seeing what the results would be." He took another drag, eyeing Alfie shrewdly. "Too bad for them, she bollocks-ed that all to hell by calling up and talking to the secretary. She fixed her portion of it every time, before I could send someone round to... see it my way, shall we say."

Alfie said nothing.

"Oh, didn't you know about that?" Tommy asked innocently.

Alfie said nothing.

"Well," Tommy tapped the ash from the end of his smoke onto the warehouse floor. "I just figured that someone in her... condition," Tommy took a drag, letting the word hang, "shouldn't be dealing with having to make anyone see it her way."

Alfie said nothing.

Tommy gave an exaggerated eyebrow raise. "Oh, I see... you didn't know about that either." He tsk'd quietly, the smugness behind his eyes almost unbearable.

Alfie refused to confirm or deny, not that it made a lick of difference. Instead, he pulled Tommy closer by the lapel of his coat so they were nose to nose. "That is my house. And you stay the fuck away from it, it's got nothin' to do with you." Alfie knew his eyes were wild, his nostrils flaring and if Tommy Shelby knew what was good for him, he'd be scared. Very scared.

Instead, Tommy looked condescending. "Then you better get it in order, Alfie." Then he gingerly removed his coat from Alfie's fingers and strode for the door, coat tails swinging. "That's all, Mr Solomons. Have a nice day."

* * *

He left Alfie standing, Abe at his heels, in the middle of the filthy, empty warehouse in the middle of the worst part of London. Abe watched him scowl at the floor, frozen, until he focused on Abe shifting uncomfortably behind him. With a jerk of his head, he directed Abe to follow him to the car. They drove back along the agreed-upon route, signalling to their lookouts that all was well. As they made their winding way back to Alfie's headquarters, the silence was oppressive in the car. Neither Abe nor Alfie spoke until Alfie was standing behind his desk, his face a blank piece of stone again.

"Did you know?" Alfie asked, dangerously quiet.

Abe knew he wasn't asking about the late shipping or Billy Hill, and he didn't hesitate. "I didn't. I hadn't even heard any rumours."

"But, of course, you'd have told me if you had," Alfie said calmly, rearranging papers on his desk without looking at Abe.

Abe desperately wanted Alfie to look at him, so he could show him how earnest he was, but Alfie's frozen scowl was pointed at the desk and nowhere else.

"Of course, boss. Of course I would have."

"Mmph," Alfie grunted, "because you're loyal to me, right?" Then he slid open the top drawer of his desk. "Not to her."

Then he did look up, and Abe immediately wished he was anywhere but under that piercing blue gaze. He stifled his knee-jerk reaction to speak as quickly as possible to get that look off of him. Instead, he placed his hands behind his back and widened his stance. "Yes, boss," he answered, quiet and earnest, staring Alfie in the face. He knew more than his job rode on the way he replied, especially if Alfie got it in his head that Abe knew something he didn't.

Alfie regarded him, his hand toying with the drawer pull. Abe didn't know if Alfie believed him, but Alfie started moving toward him, away from the drawer, although it hung open ominously. "You know that I can't afford to doubt your loyalty, Abe."

It took everything in him to hold his tongue and wait.

"I need to know that if it came down to me or her, you'd pick me." Alfie continued. "If that's not your answer, then you and I are going to have a problem."

"I understand."

"DO YOU?" Alfie thundered, cutting him off. Silence spread out, thick and heavy and Abe swallowed involuntarily. "Do you understand, Abe? Because it seems to me that we've conversed in the past where I asked for information about her, and you decided you knew better." Alfie walked closer to him. "Remember?"

Abe nodded curtly, his eyes meeting Alfie's and his hands still clasped behind his back. "Yes, I remember."

"So do I, Abe." Alfie was in his face now, and Abe could feel his breath on his cheeks. "And every day you are still in my employ is a day I've given you a second chance. You must be pretty special because I don't give many people second chances. Especially not ones where their loyalty could be the difference between life and death." Alfie said. "And I don't mean mine."

Abe swallowed again, but when he spoke, his voice was steady. It sounded stronger than he'd thought it would, and he sent up a quick prayer of thanks. "I was wrong. It won't happen again."

"No, I already know that, Abe." Alfie simmered in front of him, just waiting to boil over. "You don't get to tell me that because I already know. It will NOT happen again. And here's how you get to prove that all the second chances I've been giving you were not wasted because you," Alfie poked him in the chest, "are going to find out."

Alfie was holding himself back and Abe was grateful. While he'd rather take the brunt of Alfie's anger than have him unleash it on, say, Mabel, Abe didn't know if his body could take it anymore. The gunshot wound in his shoulder had desensitised most of his left arm, and he had never fully gotten back mobility or strength in that whole side of his body. He compensated when he could, and he hated himself for being thankful that he wouldn't have to take a beating, but he was glad. Because Alfie didn't need to use the gun in the drawer to kill him easily. It wouldn't have taken much, actually.

"I'll find out."

Alfie's crazy eyes shuttered slightly, his nostrils stopped flaring so much. "Good," he said softly, "good." He walked back to the desk and slammed the drawer shut before focusing once again on the papers in front of him.

Abe let himself out quietly.


	34. DIY Meet the Parents

Mabel woke in Alfie's bed, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets and feeling like she'd been through a mill press. It didn't take long for her to remember that it was not the result of a fun night. The entire evening crashed back in and she shivered as the clammy shirt she fished from the back of Alfie's wardrobe clung to her. She pushed her shaky legs from the bed and shuffled to the oasis that was Alfie's bathroom, counting on a long, hot soak to make her human again.

She lowered herself into the warm water, allowing the stiffness to ease out of her joints as she sighed. Mabel forced her lazy limbs to wash her hair, but afterward she floated for a while with her eyes shut. She felt bloody awful yesterday, but today her stomach had stopped cramping, and she wasn't nauseated at once by the thought of food. Maybe she would live after all. She remembered Alfie coming home and trying to take care of her and it made her smile. She always liked having someone fuss over her when she was sick, but she never pictured Alfie doing it. Her mother, sure, but never Alfie.

The thought of her mother made her sit bolt upright, sloshing water over the side.

'Oh, shite, what day is it?'

They were coming to visit, and she'd almost forgotten. She should be at her flat, cleaning and preparing meals and in general being a good daughter. The kind who didn't have sex or go drinking, let alone deal with any of the aftermath of doing those things. She groaned and drug herself out of the bath and through making herself presentable, a wave of exhaustion sweeping her as she finished pinning her hair in place. The Mabel looking back at her in the vanity mirror was nowhere near her normal state of "driven woman in a man's world." Peaches' square headed rested on Mabel's knee and she snuffed her sympathy.

"That's about as good as it's gonna get, Peach. What do you think?" she asked, and Peaches' tail thumped the floor at the mention of her name. She scooted closer, nosing Mabel's hand and Mabel petted her head, running her silky ears through her fingers.

"Well, yer lookin' a mite wibbly wobbly, lassie."

Mabel looked up to see Rowena in the mirror and tossed her a weak smile. "I'm actually better, I think."

"Mmph," Rowena grunted, depositing the stack of towels she'd been carrying. She moved to Mabel with sharp, purposeful motions and unpinned her hair, letting it tumble down her back. She made short work of re-coiffing and re-pinning, and making Mabel look far more like herself than she had in several days. Mabel would protest having someone fix her hair, she was a grown woman, but the thought of lifting her arms was draining, so she accepted the help. It was going to be a long day.

She must have sighed because Rowena met her eyes in the mirror. "What was that fer? Did I not do it right?"

"Oh, goodness, no it's perfect!" Mabel hastened to assure her. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't saying that at all," she mumbled, her face heating. "It's... just... thank you, I mean."

Rowena's brow remained furrowed and she examined Mabel with an intensity that made her skin itch. She placed a calloused, gnarled hand on Mabel's shoulder and asked, "Are ye all right, lassie?"

And curse her _stupid,_ girly heart, Mabel started to cry. She blinked rapidly and tried to mop up the tears that spilled over her cheeks because Rowena looked scared to death and Peaches whined at her.

"I am, I'm really fine, I'm just..." she said, sniffling, "I'm just..."

"... worried about the bairn?" Rowena supplied.

Mabel gulped, because she barely even considered the baby, or possible baby, or holy _shite,_ she would be a terrible mother because she'd been sighing about her own mother coming to visit and she was _so selfish_ and how would she ever be able to bring a whole person up in this world she was _literally helping make worse._

"Are ye gonna vomit?" Rowena asked, backing up to give her room.

Mabel looked stricken. "No," she admitted. "I'm sorry, I'm just worried about a lot of things." She breathed out and crumpled in on herself. Rowena was there, patting her cheek and then pulling her toward the kitchen.

When Rowena sat her at the table with a cup of tea and a fresh biscuit, Mabel petted Peaches and poured out her stress. She babbled about her mother's visit, her anxiety of being a mother herself, and her uncertainty of what Alfie would say. Rowena listened and washed dishes, not judging and, thankfully, not making trite responses to her fears. Mabel knew she had a full plate, she didn't need anyone else to minimise it, that was what she dealt with best. But oh, it was good to talk to someone else.

Mabel sniffled and wiped her eyes, taking a deep, cleansing breath. "Okay, I'm done now. Thank you for listening."

"Aye," Rowena nodded, pulling a tray of buns from the oven. "But yer not done yet."

Mabel looked at her in confusion as Rowena transferred the steaming rolls to a basket and tucked a thick towel around them.

"You'll take these for yer parents, lassie, and I won't hear anythin' about it," she commanded. It took a moment for her words to sink in, but then Mabel blinked in surprise and pulled the older woman in for a fierce hug. Rowena's stiff stance didn't change, but her arms came up and gave Mabel an awkward pat before she cleared her throat and pulled away. "Now," she barked, "what meals can ye make?"

So Mabel spent the morning discussing meal plans, recipes and lists for the shops. Finally, Rowena pushed her out the door with a promise to buy the items she didn't already have and bring them over to her flat. Mabel strode home, purpose renewed, and cleaned like mad. She set about moving her things aside so her parents could take her room, the sofa would be fine while they were here. She pressed linens, scrubbed and mopped and dusted, and then called Wilma to check up on how things were going at the bakery. Mabel left detailed instructions and made sure Wilma knew how to get a hold of her for the next few days. She'd just gotten back into her flat, her head whirling with bakery things, when there was a knock on her door. When she opened it, Abe was standing on her threshold with several bags of groceries looking uncomfortable. She rushed to take the bags from his bad arm.

"Oh, my, let me get that."

"No, no, I've got it," he said, turning his body to keep her from reaching the bags.

Mabel cocked her head at him, but stepped aside so he could enter and place the bags in her tiny kitchen. When he had each bag lined up on the short counter, he returned to the doorway.

"So!" he said awkwardly, "trying to eat healthier?" and Mabel stared at him.

"What?" She looked back at the bags. "Oh, right. Something like that," she smiled at him. "Thanks for bringing those!"

He nodded and gave a small wave before hurrying down the stairs. Mabel shook her head at him and returned to organise her newly acquired ingredients.

She could make five recipes now, and Mabel figured her parents would be so impressed her mother would weep with happiness. Mabel could do a lot of things, but she hadn't exactly made spending time in a kitchen a priority. She was calmer now that her flat smelled fresh and clean. The apples she arranged in a basket on her counter looked so cheery she couldn't help but be a little proud of herself for being a proper adult.

Mabel stretched, a satisfied groan rolling out of her. The cleaning had helped work the stiffness out of her achy muscles, even though now she wanted another bath. She was getting spoiled spending so much time at Alfie's. Mabel smiled to herself, remembering Alfie taking care of her. She'd been so glad to see him, as awful as she felt (and looked, she was sure).

Suddenly, Mabel froze. She'd been rubbing her sore back muscles, easing out the stress of the day. But without her realising it, her hand had strayed to her pelvis, absentmindedly pressing the dull ache there too. It was a nagging but familiar ache, the same ache she'd recognised from every month since the day she was 13 and helping her Bubbe shelling peas. She'd ended up ruining her second best dress that day because when she'd said something about it, her grandmother had said, "We don't talk about such things." Eventually her mother had told her how to pin the liner in her knickers and to sleep with a hot water bottle when the pain got too bad.

It was the ache she'd been expecting for the past week.

Mabel's knees got weak and she slumped on the couch. For a second, she was numb, the noise in her head a smeary blur. She wasn't sure what to feel.

 _'Relieved, Yaldeh,'_ she told herself, and that was true. She was. _'You're relieved because this makes everything so much easier. It just goes back to the way it was. Alfie doesn't need to know, Rowena will be relieved also, and Wilma will be thrilled that she won't have to do bakery stuff by herself. See? Easier.'_ She stood and gathered her items for her trip to the bathroom before bed, moving quickly and not thinking. As she lay down on the couch, the stiff sheet pulled up to her chin, she forced away the pictures of dark haired babies with plump lips and blue eyes and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

The next day, she met them at the train station. Before she'd even said hello, her mother remarked, "You're not eating, Mabel. You think I can't tell? A mother can tell."

Mabel smiled anyway, genuine gladness at seeing her parents welling up in her. " _Shalom_ , Mother. It's good to see you, too."

Her father just scooped her up in a hug, and she grinned and squeezed him back. He stepped back, embarrassed, and moved to take their bags. Mabel wound her arm through her mother's and led the way through the sooty, foggy streets. Her mother commented on everything, loudly, in between explaining how the trip had been (long, noisy, unacceptable), and everything wrong with Mabel's appearance (too skinny, hair too loose, too much leg exposed). Mabel smiled through it all because she was so used to her mother's fussing that she'd missed it. She knew her mum did it out of love and concern, and so Mabel stopped her only to crow about the meal they would eat that night. The one she'd made herself.

Her parents were so sufficiently distracted by this that the entire walk home they avoided all the things on Mabel's "I-hope-they-don't-bring-that-up-but-I-know-they-will" list.

Item number one on the list came up when they sat down to eat.

Mabel made sure her parents were seated, and that everything was in its proper place before she sat too. She handed round the basket of Rowena's rolls which they didn't need to know she hadn't baked. She was getting the hang of cooking, a little, but her baking thus far had been atrocious.

"So, Daniel is still working with your father, Mabel. He's doing well at the bank."

"That's lovely, Mother," Mabel flashed a polite smile and smoothed her napkin over her thighs. She plucked at the hem until she realised she was doing it and clearing her throat in the silence.

"So, have you been seeing someone, since you're obviously not interested in hearing about Daniel?" her mother pushed. Item number two!

Dinners were usually easy and chatty with her parents. Her mother was overbearing and pushy, but she cared about Mabel and what she had to say. So when Mabel spoke, her parents focused on her, always. This time was no different. So, naturally, Mabel pretended she hadn't heard the question.

"I'm glad you guys came down, truly. It's been too long and so much has happened..." Mabel trailed off with an awkward smile, but her parents just watched her and waited. She cleared her throat again and picked up her fork, eager for the attention to be somewhere else. "I have a few days off, and I was wondering if you'd like to see the sights tomorrow?"

Her mother helped herself to a roll and cocked her head at Mabel, but shrugged and went along with it. "Well, I was hoping we'd get to see the bakery since you practically live there. And, goodness, if these rolls are any sign of what we can expect, I might just move in with you!" She pressed her nose to the bread and inhaled appreciatively. "Mmm, you can't beat homemade bread. I'm so pleased you're learning all of this, bread baking is such an important part of..." she broke off at her husband's nudge. "Well, any home, really." She tried a placating smile. Wow, items three, four, and five, all at the same time.

"Ah, right, the bakery," Mabel faltered. "Well,-" but the sound of someone banging on the door hard enough to tear it down cut her off. All three of them jumped, her mum sloshing wine out of her glass.

Mabel squeaked out, "Goodness!" as she fumbled to stand and answer it as quickly as possible. "I wonder who that-"

But she didn't get to wonder for long because the door flew open and a cross and blustery Alfie came barging in.

"Mabel, there you are, I need-"

"Mr Solomons! What on earth are you doing? Here?" She plastered on a wide, fake smile as she stood between him and her parents, signalling behind her with her eyes. He noticed and stopped moving toward her, thank God.

"Ah, _Shalom_ _Aleichem_ _,"_ Alfie bowed his head hastily to her parents, her mother paused in sopping up spilt wine."My apologies for interrupting, I need to speak to Mabel here in private, won't take but a moment..." He placed a hand on her arm and tried to tug her aside.

"These are my parents!" Mabel said, a little too brightly.

Alfie paused and lifted his hand from her arm. "Oh," he said, then stopped, his gaze switching between Mabel and her parents. "Ah... right," he murmured. He hesitated, then said, "I am very pleased to meet you, right, I truly, truly am. Believe me when I say I wish it was in a better light, but right now, I need to speak with Mabel in the other room." He moved toward the only room in the tiny flat with a door: the bedroom. When he turned to allow Mabel to go ahead of him, she stared at him, unmoving, widening her eyes meaningfully.

Alfie looked again at the room he had selected and back pedalled. "I mean, in the hallway," Alfie amended and walked back to the front door, holding it open for her.

Mabel stared at him, flabbergasted. She had never really planned to introduce Alfie to her parents, but in her wildest imaginings of it happening, she would _never_ have expected him to act like this. Alfie was nothing if not a proper Jewish gentleman when it suited him, and she was, frankly, shocked.

But Alfie looked at her, his lips thinned and his jaw clenched and gave her the "I'm not fucking around, here" look.

Mabel scoffed and, she couldn't believe she was doing this, turned and asked her parents to excuse her for a moment. They varied between veiled expressions of concerned (her father) and appalled (her mother), but nodded and she stepped into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind her.

Alfie rounded on her the second the door shut. "What in the hell, Mabel?" he stage-whispered, yanking her away from the entryway.

"What in the hell ME?! What in the hell YOU, Alfie!" Mabel whispered back. "Those are my _parents_ in there, the only ones I've got, meaning you get just the one first impression, so ta for-"

"I had a meeting today," Alfie interrupted, and Mabel's jaw snapped shut at the fire she saw burning in his eyes. "With Tommy fucking Shelby. And do you know what he told me?"

Mabel didn't even get all the way through her head shake before he was pointing in her face, his nostrils flaring, and she backed up a step.

"He told me that a woman in your "condition" shouldn't be doing the things you're doing."

Mabel felt the blood drain out of her face, even as her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Then I sent Abe to talk to Rowena," Alfie continued. "And do you know what she told him?"

Mabel didn't even bother with a head shake this time.

"She said she'd stopped giving you the medicine the doctor gave you for your stomach, on account of you could be pregnant."

His voice had been climbing and when he got to the last word, Mabel couldn't stop the "Shh!" that escaped her. "My parents!"

"I don't give a good bloody fuck!" Alfie rumbled, but he lowered his volume. "Why is Rowena telling me you're pregnant? Hmm? And why is Tommy FUCKING Shelby telling me you're pregnant?"

Mabel straightened, indignation flooding her bones and pushing everything else aside. Her stupid temper would be the death of her someday.

"I beg your pardon! _Rowena_ says I'm pregnant? _Tommy Shelby_ says I'm pregnant?! At what point were you going to come and ask _me?"_

"When were you gonna come and _tell_ me?!" Alfie thundered.

"When I bloody well had something to say!" she roared back.

"Oh, and you don't have something to say now?"

"Oh, I've got _plenty_ to say to you, Alfie Solomons. Unfortunately, I can't say it right now, because it involves strings of words I wouldn't want my _parents_ to overhear. Unless you've forgotten they're in the other _bloody_ room."

Alfie threw his hands up and paced away from her, struggling to keep it under control. He took a few deep breaths and stared at the ceiling, his hands clenched in fists in his hair. Mabel crossed her arms, biting her tongue and glaring. Finally, he heaved a sigh, combed his hair back with his blunt fingers and moved to look at her, his eyes burning with intensity.

"Mabel," he moved to take her hands but she wouldn't budge from where they wrapped around her, holding her together. He faced her, his voice low. "Mabe," he started again, stressing every word, "this is not a discussion. You can't keep the baby."

Mabel gaped at him. His words hung between them, the seconds ticking by opening a chasm that was splitting her in two. She'd been expecting him to bloody _ask_ her so she could tell him the truth, and after that she'd probably rant about communication or some shite. He'd be an arse, as usual, stubborn and gruff but still someone who listened to her and valued her and cared about what she wanted. She was _not_ expecting him to be a commanding misogynist, issuing orders and expecting obedience. She wanted to sob, and she wanted to beat him, and rail against everything he was. But Mabel couldn't do that because Mabel Ziemann was a woman who was tough and intelligent and self-sufficient in a society that didn't want her to be any of those things. But she had been all of them for so, so long. And Mabel felt something fragile and taut and vital inside of her snap.

"Get out," she forced the whisper past her lips. Her glare radiated so much heat she was sure Alfie would singe.

Alfie looked confused. He even took a half step back, studying her in the dim light. "What?"

"GET OUT!" Mabel screamed, and Alfie jumped. "GET OUT!"

"Mabe..."

"Get out! Right now. I can't look at you, I can't..." And Mabel spun and _bolted_. She fled down the hall and into the communal bathroom, her feet and her heart and her mind all at odds with one another. The door slammed shut and she locked it before her feet carried her around and around the small space while her heart and head fought it out.

Mabel braced herself against the sink and stared at her reflection in the rippled mirror. She wasn't crying. She thought she'd be crying, she _should_ cry, she'd probably feel better if she cried, but she wasn't. She could sense it deep inside her, the dam holding back the tears, but all she could feel right then was scraped out, hollow.

But draped over the hollow was... _angry._ How dare he? How could he just assume she was carrying his child without even asking her? And, on top of that, how dare he decide, all by himself, the fate of said child? Not that there even _was_ a child as she'd figured out last night. But that wasn't the point. Not only was he throwing around lordly demands and telling her what his decision was about "not keeping" the baby, who the hell said she even wanted his bastard kid?

 _'No, wait, I didn't mean that.'_ Mabel felt awful the second the thought floated to the top. She really, really didn't mean that. It wasn't that she didn't want his baby, she... oh, God, what had she done? What was she _doing_?! There wasn't a baby. This was a huge discussion, about all the issues she had with how he'd handled it, but there _wasn't_ a _baby_. She had to tell him, right now.

She threw open the bathroom door.

"AL-" her parents were standing outside the door.

"-fie," she trailed off. He was long gone, of course, and her parents looked terrified.

"Mabe!" Her father was the one that rushed forward, cupping her face in his hands. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, and the dam inside her wobbled at the fear in his face.

"What was all that about?" her mother asked, her hands clinging to Mabel's.

"Uh..." Mabel muttered, "let's go back inside, yeah? I can explain."

Her mother's head swivelled, taking in the cracked doors in the hallway and her back straightened. "Yes, let's," she said, the picture of propriety.

The door hadn't even closed before her mother's hands were on her hips. "Who was that?"

Mabel sat on the sofa before she answered. Her legs were shaking and her stomach ache had returned in earnest. She was bloody exhausted. "His name is Mr Alfred Solomons, he... I know him from the bakery," she finished lamely.

Her mother blinked. "Solomons... isn't he your boss?"

"Well, not anymore, technically no one is my boss. I own the company. But yes, he used to be." Mabel had her skirt pinched between her fingers, the fabric biting into her skin. She stared at the crease she was making, unable to look away or unclench her fingers.

Her father broke in sounding surprised. "Wait, you what? You own the company? Is that even legal?"

Mabel stiffened and looked up, trying to hide the guilt in her gaze. She knew in her head he was asking if a woman could legally own a business, not if the business was legal. Her voice came out breathy anyway. "What?"

"Oh, never mind that," her mother flapped her hand at him and came to sit beside Mabel. "Why was he here, Mabel? What were you shouting about?"

Mabel wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. "Uh, we... do sometimes work together, and I..."

"You called him Alfie." Her father's voice was hard, and she felt her stomach sink.

Mabel was quiet for a moment before wetting her lips. "We've been..." she started, staring at the floor. "He's, uh, been... courting, me." She grimaced at the word and how un-Alfie-like it was. She choked down a laugh at the thought of Alfie's reaction to this situation and hurried on before the laugh could turn to a sob. "And we got in a fight. And I..."

She looked up at her parents, her eyes flitting back and forth between them before settling on her mother. "Mum... I..."

She had messed up. She had made a huge mistake, getting angry instead of just bloody talking to him. It hung heavy in the air, a huge ominous black cloud that threatened to split open. She could lose him over this, and it _terrified_ her. All she wanted was to rush after him and fix it, but barring that, she wanted someone to hug her and tell her it would be okay. Neither of her parents looked sympathetic. Her father was frowning, his fists clenched.

"Was he hurting you?" he asked.

"What?" Mabel, shaken from her reverie, looked at him with genuine confusion. "No, no of course not, why?"

"You were shouting," he challenged.

"Because I was angry, we were having an argument!" Mabel was confounded. "Why else?"

Her father stared at her like she was daft then just shook his head and walked away. He sat at the table and stared resolutely at the table. Mabel knew he would have left if he'd had somewhere to go. Discussions about anything were usually regulated to her mother, who was currently looking at Mabel with hard, flinty eyes.

Mabel swallowed. She was on unstable ground and she desperately wanted a hand to hold, but one look at her mother's face told her she would not find it there.

"That's not how proper ladies act in a courtship. He was courting you? Mabel, what were you thinking?"

Mabel sighed. "I..."

"Well, it's a good thing you are done with that. A man like that is no good."

"What are you talking about? I'm not 'done with that'," she said, hurt and off-balance.

"Of course you are," her mother nodded with finality. "He is no good for you, you can do much better. He cannot even keep a job."

Mabel huffed out an unamused laugh, rolling her eyes. "That is wildly inaccurate and not what I said at all."

"It does not matter, Mabel. You listen to your mother now, she knows. You think she got to this age without knowing a thing or two? Believe me. He is _No. Good._ "

"Mum..." Mabel started, but then she sighed. She wasn't going to win this one, and after today, she didn't want to fight anymore. So she plastered her "boss" smile on her face and stood. "The food is getting cold. Shall we?"

* * *

Alfie slammed down the stairs and out the door, not because he was angry and scared and there was a pain in his chest like he'd been punched, but because he could. He could do whatever he wanted in this town, there was no one to stop him. He owned this fucking town.

The engine started up beautifully and his car careened down the street. The frame shuddered as he took the corner too fast, and he narrowly avoided hitting a pair of young lovers walking hand-in-hand down the street. He considered going back and hitting them on purpose, but decided he had better things to do.

Alfie wanted to beat something black and blue, so he did what he always did when he got in this mood. Business.

"Yes, I want to see Billy Hill."

"I'm afraid you can't see Mr Hill right now, is there any way I can set up an appointment for-"

Alfie slammed his walking stick on the polished wood desk with enough force to leave a gouge. The mousy woman unfortunate enough to be speaking almost swallowed her tongue. She looked up at him with wide, watery eyes and he leant close, calm, always.

"I want to see Billy fucking Hill right fucking now. You can tell him that Alfie Solomons is here, and he's in a fucking mood, and he can either deal with it now or he can let it fester. It's up to him."

The woman nodded, stood on shaky legs and whispered, "If you'll just have a seat..." before disappearing down a hallway.

Alfie looked around the posh office with a mixture of envy and distaste. His new headquarters wasn't posh. The bakery hadn't been posh. He wasn't posh. Alfie knew this about himself, but it had never bothered him. He knew himself better than most, and he'd come to accept the things he knew. He was a sinner, he was a man who got things done, he was clever. And since the war, he was a man who carried an awful lot in the box at the back of his mind, and he had no intention of unpacking it, ever. He wondered if Billy Hill knew himself, and if his poncy little office with an actual fucking fern represented him.

Billy Hill was there, as Alfie expected, even though it was late. He wore a sharp, charcoal grey suit, his shoes polished within an inch of their lives. His thick, black hair oiled off his high brow showed off his dark eyebrows and his sharp, Greek nose. He looked smarmy as hell. Alfie liked him almost at once.

"Mr Solomons," he greeted Alfie, hands at his sides. He gestured down the hallway he'd come from. "Right this way, please."

Alfie grunted and followed, cane swinging next to him. When they reached an office with a large wooden desk and plush, cranberry carpeting, Alfie wanted to sneer. This was what he'd been paying for when he'd forked over the outrageous fees to have things shipped overseas. What a pretentious prick. Alfie's face stretched into a grin and he took a seat.

Billy Hill settled himself behind the desk, his large hands folded in front of his face.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Alfie hated being on this side of the desk, but it wouldn't do to let anyone know that. He twirled the stick on his knee and studied the man in front of him. Clearly he knew what he was doing, his business was solid, and he worked hard. But he was young, which meant he had a mentor, and he had good contacts. Being a gangster in this town was a career, and there was a level of respect for all successful career men in Alfie's mind.

"Well, it seems, Mr Hill, that you and I have at least one conversation that's been brewing for a while. I thought we might as well have it."

"Mmm," he agreed, "at least one."

He stood and Alfie tensed, which Billy noticed. "I'm not armed, Mr Solomons, can I ask if you are?"

Well, that was a sentence that rarely got uttered. They either assumed you were or hoped you weren't, but no one _asked._

"Only with my rapier wit," Alfie said, which was true. He'd left his gun in the car.

Billy smirked and moved to the side cart to fill two glasses. Whisky, Alfie noted. When Billy handed Alfie his tumbler and raised his own in a toast, Alfie said, "To business."

Billy inclined his head. "Indeed."

They drank, and Alfie savoured the burn as it rolled down his throat. He took his time, letting Billy finish first so he could make him wait.

But Billy didn't wait. "Mr Solomons, I believe I know why you're here."

"'S'at so?"

"Mmm. I'll start, and if you feel I'm off base here at any point, please let me know."

Alfie set the heavy tumbler on the desk in front of him. "Alright, Mr Hill."

"Our mutual acquaintance, Tommy Shelby, seems to be getting in the fucking way."

Alfie tilted his head, studying the calm demeanour of the man in front of him and then nodded once. "Yeah, that'll do."


	35. DIY Acquiescence

Sometimes Abe wished Alfie was the kind of man who paced. It would almost be a relief to watch him burn off his frustration, anger and nervous energy by moving around. Instead, he sat behind his enormous desk, rolling something small between his fingertips and glaring a hole in the rug. He would spend long minutes glaring before making a few notes on the paper in front of him or saying something he no doubt saw as profound.

"Never let them see you in the trenches, Abe."

Abe wasn't sure who "they" were or what exactly the "trenches" entailed in this analogy, but he would nod, and Alfie would go back to glaring. He'd been at it for a few hours, and Abe's arm was aching. He needed to move, and while Abe could have left without Alfie thinking a thing of it, the truth was, he worried about his boss. Alfie had faced a pretty life-altering revelation regarding impending fatherhood, and so far, it didn't suit him. He had been irritable, distant, and downright odd since the night before, and Abe thought this might just be the calm before the storm. Abe had seen Mabel too, and of the two of them, he decided Mabel was handling this far better. Although it was possible that because Alfie kept all emotions save flagrant anger under wraps, a flicker of anything else seemed like a tidal wave of feelings.

Abe resolved himself to staying, in case Alfie needed him, but when his entire side twinged, he cleared his throat.

"Mmph?" Alfie grunted, still glaring at the floor.

"Sir?" Abe prompted, and when Alfie looked up, Abe raised his eyebrows in a 'what the fuck?' look.

Alfie sat back with a sigh of frustration. "I can't figure it, Abe."

"Can't figure what, sir?" Abe asked, praying fervently that he wouldn't start asking questions about babies. Because Abe knew fuck-all about babies and he did _not_ sign up for that shite and-

"Billy Hill," Alfie said, pushing back from his desk and rolling his large shoulders.

Abe closed his eyes in silent thanks. "Well, we've been through every scenario twice since you started this-I mean since we started this," Abe said, glancing at Alfie's harsh look. "I thought you were calling it."

"Mmph," he grunted, "I went to visit him last night."

Abe waited. It surprised him, Alfie hated rushing into things without considering ten thousand possible outcomes first. It must not have gone well at Mabel's.

"He wants to take out the Peaky Blinders."

Abe let that sink in. Then he shifted. "Historically, not a good bet for you." Alfie fixed him with a scowl, and Abe blinked calmly back at him. "Sorry, sir. Didn't think you kept me around to lick your fucking boots."

Alfie's eyes twinkled. "And why do I keep you around, Abe?"

"To pick things up when you get your ribs broken, boss."

Alfie snorted at that, opening the drawer and tossing in whatever he'd been rolling in his fingers. He snatched the pencil off the desk again and pointed at his scribbles with it.

"Billy Hill controls the shipping by anything larger than a rowboat in and out of London. I've looked at train transport and shipping from somewhere else, but it's getting too damn expensive as it is. Unless we go through Hill, it's not fucking worth it. I'd make it profitable for him, but he's being a fucking prick."

Abe knew all that. "How does that have to do with the Blinders?"

"It doesn't," Alfie said. "We didn't discuss any of that, we only talked about the Blinders. He wanted to find out what I know, how much of the operation I'd seen, how often I talked to Tommy. Primary school, really. But he's fighting both of us, and it's stretching him too thin. So when I came to him first, and he assumed it was so I could buy his favour against a shared enemy. And now he wants to pit us against each other so we'll run each other into the ground instead."

Abe pressed his lips into a thin line but said nothing. He didn't trust the Blinders as far as he could throw them, but he didn't hate Tommy Shelby. He followed the rules, such as they were, he reliably looked out for himself, and he was so beautiful it hurt. Not that Abe would hesitate to put a gun to the man's forehead if the situation called for it, but... well.

"And how are we feeling about that?" Abe asked diplomatically.

"I don't give a fuck about the Peaky fucking Blinders," Alfie stated. "They stay on their side, I stay on my side, they keep their bookies away from mine, and we all go home at the end of the fucking day. But Billy Hill," Alfie scratched his beard, thinking. "Billy Hill is..." he trailed off, and Abe waited.

"Do you know what he said to me?"

Abe shook his head, watching the older man.

"He said it wouldn't be enough to take out the Blinders and take over their businesses. He said because they're a family organisation, the only way to take them down and make sure they stay down is to go after their families too."

Abe said nothing, but he felt like he'd been kicked.

"Women and children too. He said they deserved it, and if you didn't squash the lot, they'd just breed more and rise back up." Alfie sat for a moment, stroking his beard, and Abe saw the icy calm that had taken over Alfie's visage, and he was afraid.

"So what is it you can't figure, boss?" he asked quietly.

"I can't figure how to kill him without it coming back on me, like Tommy and that whole fucking Kimber mess."

Ah. He should have known. Alfie was a terrifying bastard, but this is why Abe stayed. Because he would tell you he was doing it for selfish reasons, but Alfie left his town better than it was before, always. And he took care of his own. This baby wouldn't be any different. He'd topple an empire for the kid.

* * *

Mabel loved her parents, she really did. They were kind people, they cared about her above all others, and they did what they thought was best to improve her life. She had moved to another town on purpose though.

"Dear, you really ought to keep your onions and your potatoes separate. It keeps them from spoiling. You don't want them to spoil, right?"

"Mabel, love, you want me to put the towels... here? On the floor?"

"Oh, I didn't realise you wanted the clutter left on the table."

"Why don't we go somewhere for dinner tonight? We wouldn't want to put you out."

"Well, if you're so busy, you could always stop working at the bakery. I'm sure your future husband would appreciate it."

Mabel felt a headache building over her left brow, and she caught herself rolling her shoulders to relieve the tension.

At the, "You know, Daniel is very respectful of women," comment, Mabel stood and abandoned the knitting her mother had been encouraging her to work on.

"Mother, I think I'm going to get some air," she said with finality.

Her mother looked surprised, even though she couldn't have been. "Well, that sounds lovely!" She placed her own knitting on the end table. "I'll join you! Maybe your father would like that too. Just give me a moment, I'll ask him."

Mabel sighed and waited for the 15 ridiculous minutes it took for her parents to gather their things and get ready to "get some air."

They ended up meandering north-ish while her mother made comments about everything in sight. Mabel's smile was tight on her face, and she was about to suggest they turn around when she noticed a familiar face in front of her.

"Rachel!" she called, startling her mother, who was in the middle of a sentence. "Sorry, mother, just one moment," she rushed before disengaging her arm and scurrying to where Rachel was waving to her.

" _Shalom_ , dear," Rachel exclaimed, exchanging air kisses.

"Oh, you have no idea how glad I am to see you. Please, please talk about something for at least ten minutes so I can decompress. I've spent every waking moment with my parents for the last 72 hours and I _will_ go crazy."

Rachel laughed. "Not a problem, my friend. I was wondering why you weren't at work. How long will your parents be staying?"

"Just until the end of the week. Wait... how did you know I wasn't at work?"

"I ran into Travers! He came in to update his resume. He's all wild-eyed about getting this job he heard about and wanted to make sure it was as good as possible. I tried to explain-" She broke off when she noticed Mabel's hurt face. "What's the matter?"

"Hmm? Nothing, I just didn't know Travers was looking for something else." She flashed her brightest smile. "I wish he'd told me, that's all."

"I think he's just stressed about trying to get everything done, you know, with the low supplies." Rachel's smile was sympathetic. "The guys are just feeling the pressure. They'll be ok, don't worry about it."

Mabel had no idea what she was talking about, but she nodded and smiled again. "Thanks for stopping to talk. I'd better get back to them."

They hugged once more, and Mabel made her way back across the street to where her parents stood waiting.

"Who was that?" her mother asked, looking hurt Mabel hadn't introduced them.

"Hmm? Oh, my friend Rachel. She used to work at the bakery with me," Mabel said, waving a distracted hand in that direction.

"Well, she seems like a lovely girl! You should invite her over for dinner while we're here, I'm sure we'd love to hear more about what you do."

Mabel painted a strained smile on her face. "I don't think she'll be able to, she's got to be home for her... uh... family."

"Oh, of course," her mother nodded, then continued to prattle on as they walked. Mabel didn't hear a word. She was turning everything Rachel had said over in her head, the short conversation disconcerting her in a way it shouldn't have been able to. She needed to go in to work and find out what the bloody hell was going on, but she was stuck on what to do about her parents.

Until they turned the corner, and the solution presented itself.

"Oh good, we're almost there!" she announced cheerily.

"What? What was that, dear?" her mother asked.

"The British Museum is just up ahead. I told you we would see some of the sights. I have to run into work for a bit," she notified them, "but I want you to take your time, and enjoy yourselves! And then I want you to treat yourselves and spend this," she slipped the folded bills into her father's hand before he could say no, "on a cab. Do you remember the address?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"Perfect! I'm so glad you were as excited to come as I am to let you see it! You will love it, it's very educational." She grasped her parents hands and beamed at them. "I'll see you in a few hours!" Then she pressed kisses into their stunned cheeks and bustled off, looking for a cab of her own. When she hailed one, she turned and waved to her parents, who were staring back at her, hands raised in a shocked farewell.

 _"Stop feeling guilty, Mabe. They're fine. They would have drug you there anyway, and now you can figure out what Rachel was talking about. Maybe it's nothing. Probably it's nothing. But if it isn't,"_ she pressed her lips together, _"this is something you can fix."_

She felt plenty guilty leaving her parents to fend for themselves, but she could also have used her hasty escape to talk to Alfie. Except that she wasn't positive where he was at the moment, and she wasn't positive how long a conversation with him might take. And she wasn't sure if she could fix it.

When she got to the bakery, it didn't appear right away that anything was going on. People were busy, but that was normal. They said hello to her if they saw her, but no one stopped to talk. Not unusual either. She didn't pause until she'd made her way to the stacks to find Travers. He was busy hauling barrels when she saw him, his face red and panting.

"Travers! Goodness, you look like you're about to pass out. Put that down."

Travers complied, but he looked annoyed. He lowered the barrel, then sat on the end, mopping his face with a handkerchief. "Something I can do for you, boss?"

"I... well, I guess I need you to tell me what's going on."

"Going on?"

"Yes. I talked to Rachel, she said something about low supplies?"

It was like a shutter had dropped over Travers' face. He stood, tucking the cloth back in his pocket. "I'm sure we'll manage, ma'am." He moved to pick the barrel back up and Mabel struggled to keep her temper.

"Is this about the Tuesday shipments again? Because I thought I fixed that, but I'm sorry I wasn't here on Tuesday. Did you tell Ms. Fitzgerald? I'm sure she can work something out."

If his face had been shuttered before, now it was stone. Her normally sweet, open Travers was acting cutoff and rude.

"Travers?"

"If you'll excuse me, ma'am, I need to get back to work."

He stood, hefted the barrel on his shoulder, and brushed past Mabel without another word. Mabel stared after him, aghast and unsure.

"Okay..." she frowned and made her way to her office. As she opened the door, Wilma bolted upright out of her chair.

"Mabel! You startled me, what are you doing here?"

Mabel gave her an odd look, pulling off her gloves. "I work here, remember? Your boss?"

Wilma laughed, thin and reedy. "Of course! I just thought you'd be home. You need the rest, for the baby!"

Mabel stilled, the hairs on her neck rising. She fixed Wilma with a fierce gaze before putting her purse and things down. "I won't be here long, just a few things I need to check on. Anything I should know?"

"Ah, no, everything has been running like clockwork."

"What about the Tuesday shipment? Did it come in on time?" Mabel challenged as she moved smoothly behind her desk, displacing Wilma.

Wilma backtracked quickly. "Well, no, but I called their office like you told me to, and everything's cleared up."

Mabel paused in her perusal of the items on her desk. "Cleared up?"

"Yes, it's been taken care of. I've got everything handled. You're being silly, Mabel, you should be home with your feet up." Wilma smiled benevolently and Mabel's back went up.

"I'll go home when I damn well please," Mabel clipped. "Now, I'll take the shipping order details and the time cards and that'll be all for now."

"Yes, ma'am." Wilma fished the files out of the stack and handed them over, then let herself out. Mabel watched her go, a deep unease in her gut. It wasn't anything she could put her finger on, but it niggled in the back of her mind, an itch just out of reach. She pushed it to the side and settled into the familiar chair to go over the numbers.

Numbers could be trusted. She relied on numbers throughout her days, it was where she did her best work, in discovering and ironing out deficiencies and uncovering discrepancies. She had an inkling that the numbers would expose whatever itch her mind wouldn't let go of, so she searched. When she got done with the supply orders and time cards, she moved on to everything else, inventory, orders, handling and shipping costs, down to the sealant on the bottles. But Wilma was right, everything appeared to be in order. So why did she still feel like something about her beloved business was off?

Mabel pushed back from her desk, crossing her arms and thinking. She got to her feet and took a walk through the building to clear her head. Maybe she needed to see it again in its entirety, just to make sure it was as she left it. She headed toward the breathing rooms, just to see if the men that normally ran the room had an extra glass waiting, like they usually did.

"Harold?" she called when she found the room empty. The older German gentleman that sat there was missing, his accented banter and watchful eye a constant on any given day. Soon enough though, she saw Levi, rushing toward her.

"Oh, Levi, I was wondering where everyone was."

"Hey, boss. Just helping out in the bottling room. Harold's still over there, should be back in a moment. Did you need something?"

"The bottling room?" Harold was doing manual labour? He was elderly, perfect for the half security/half experienced eye position the breathing room required, but not fit for the heavy lifting the bottling room needed. Surely she wasn't understaffed. The numbers said she wasn't, and anytime she made changes, she monitored for weeks afterwards to make sure nothing was overlooked. But she hadn't changed anything, so what was Harold doing in the bottling room?

"Yeah, they needed an extra set of hands."

"Hmm." Mabel smiled briefly, and she could have let it drop as Levi clearly wanted, but this might be the thread that unravelled the whole mess. "And why is that, exactly?"

Levi looked a little nervous, like his mum had caught him lying. "Why? Oh, just... it's a... they're trying something a little, um, different, with the... they're trying to... uh..."

"They're trying to make the ends meet," came the thick German accent behind her.

Mabel jumped a little and spun. "Oh, Harold, _TGuten Tag_! I didn't see you there." She grasped his wiry forearm and smiled into his kindly face. She had always like Harold. When she first started, she would come down to chat with him, he was a font of information. He always had a joke for her, a new German phrase, and a story about the bakery. She had often wondered how long he'd been here, he seemed to predate even Alfie.

" _Shalom_ my lady. And we don't see you either."

"Yes, I know, and I'm so sorry about that. My parents are in town for the week so I've been out-"

" _Nein._ We see only Frau Fitzgerald now."

Mabel paused before replying. Harold didn't mince words, but was long on compliments and short on hostility. Today was a long list of contradictions, it seemed.

"Yes... but I assumed that was ok. Is she not doing the job?"

Harold waved her off and shuffled to his customary chair. "She is good, she do as you do, _ja_?"

Now she was confused. "Well, that's... good, I'm glad to hear-"

"But if you come, you see the problems. But you don't come. So you don't see. Only hear?"

There it was. She should have known Harold would just tell her, she should have sought him out earlier instead of pouring over numbers. The numbers were right, but you could fudge numbers. It was harder to fool people, and impossible to fool Harold.

She smiled ruefully. "I'm afraid I've failed you, my friend. I haven't even heard."

"Ach," Harold sat back, his hands on his thighs. "So you don't know! This makes sense, now. You see, you fix. Come."

She followed him carefully back to the bottling room. He led her to a corner where a quartet of young boys sat going through old bottles. One was scraping the wax seal, catching all the crumbles in a bowl on his lap. Another was peeling off labels while the other two were washing the bottles in a bucket of soapy water. The rest of the room was abuzz, every man in the factory working on a staggering bottling order although she was sure there was no such order going out.

"Harold, what-"

"The _jungen_ , they find bottles on the street, or mostly from their own homes, and bring to us. We don't have enough, so we make it work. We use the wax again, the bottle again. We pay them a pittance which they probably take home to their papas who will spend it to buy more bottles from us." He shrugged, as if this was the way it was and the way it had always been and would always be.

"But Harold," she tried again, focusing on the men behind her, "what do you need all the bottles for? We don't have an order, and Wilma-Ms. Fitzgerald said the shipment came through on Tuesday even though it was late."

"Ach, so," he started, "we must bottle because we have no more barrels. We must get more bottles because we have not enough. We must make do as Frau Fitzgerald says there is _nicht mehr_ to be had."

" _Nicht mehr_? But... _warum_?"

Harold laughed, his old belly laugh, and she felt a little better. He led her back out of the busy, noisy room and back down the hall. "Very good, _Mädchen,_ your Deutsch is not forgotten _._ We are not told why, just that there is no more." He spread his hands, shrugging his shoulders. "So we make the ends meet. We make do."

Mabel pursed her lips. "Well, as you say, I will find out what is going on, and I will fix this." She leant forward and kissed the wizened wrinkled cheek above her. " _Danke, mein Freund,_ for telling me. And I assume I also have you to thank for the reused bottles idea?" He nodded, and she smiled. "In the meantime, you tell those boys to stop washing those bottles in that grimy bucket. We will set up a proper sanitising station. People drink out of those!"

Harold's laugh followed her down the hallway as she headed back to her office. She had a few things to discuss with Wilma, it seemed.


	36. DIY Once Bitten

Mabel slammed the earpiece back on the hook, her anger crackling in the air. Wilma was nowhere to be found when Mabel got back to her office, so she did some checking. Ever since Wilma had taken over, she had shortened, delayed, or completely cancelled every shipment. _Every. Single. One._ But the books showed every payment made on time, in full, and Mabel shook with fury. She felt so _stupid_. Wilma had played her, and she was more than outraged; she was hurt. She couldn't believe someone would steal from her, but it stung even more that Wilma had pretended to be her friend while she did it. In fact, Wilma had sat in this office with her, feet up, sharing her best rum and swapping so many personal details it made her cheeks flame. Mabelknew almost more about Wilma's husband Danny than she did about Alfie, while Wilma knew-

Mabel sat up with a jerk.

"Bloody fuck, what did I do?"

She snatched the phone towards her, clearing the line and trapping her skirt between her fingers, pinching a crease in the fabric while she stood by. When the operator came on the line to ask her for the number she needed, she rattled off Alfie's office line.

"Come on, come on, come on..." she whispered, her eyes closed, waiting.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, there's no answer at that number."

Mabel sighed, then asked for his home number.

"Solomon residence," came the familiar Scottish brogue.

"Rowena, thank goodness, is Alfie there?"

"Ach, no, lassie, he won't be back til late, like usual. Is everything alright?" the older woman asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Oh, yes, yes, of course," Mabel hurried to reassure her, forgetting that Rowena thought she had reason to worry about her. It crossed her mind to tell her the truth, but she owed it to Alfie to explain it to him first. "Can you just have him call me when he gets in? I'm at the bakery now, but I'm heading back to my apartment, he can reach me there."

"Aye, lassie."

"Thank you."

She hung up the earpiece, the steam going out of her. She slumped, head on her desk, and groaned. How did everything get so fucked? Her throat was hot and tight, but gritted her teeth because she could handle this, damn it. Alfie wouldn't sob into his blotter, she wouldn't either.

She sat up, took a cleansing breath, and placed a few more calls to her suppliers. On her way out, she ran into Levi.

"Oh, Levi, do you have a moment?"

"Yeah, boss, what can I do for you?"

"Several things. I've made a list of things I need done. Can you let the guys know to stop the bottling as soon as possible? I've got additional supplies coming in tomorrow, that should help. When you get finished up, I want everyone to take the rest of the day off. You guys deserve a break after all that."

She continued talking, asking him to set the young boys up with a washing station and proper sanitising, and to verify all the batches bottled since supplies had run low, because they would need to-

"Hey, are you listening?"

"Yeah, boss," but he hadn't been. He'd been staring at her in wonder, a small smile tugging on his lip. He accepted the note she held out, promising to spread the word, and held his hand out to shake when she got done. She shook, a sharp, firm grasp, with a smile and a nod, and then she let herself out into the sunshine.

* * *

Alfie had been running back and forth to his bookies all bloody day, settling disputes, getting reports, shouting when necessary and gathering the earnings. He barked orders, moved money around, and ok, sure, maybe he was a little more irritable than normal, but on the outside it was a standard day.

On the inside, his head was a fucking mess. Because he'd been over it and over it, but he couldn't see any other way.

He couldn't be with Mabel any more.

He should have done it a long time ago, honestly. But he was a selfish fucking man, and he'd convinced himself that Mabel was a grown woman and able to make her own decision. If she wanted to be around him, all he could do was make her as safe as possible. But if she was going to keep the baby, it was his fucking responsibility to keep both of them as safe as possible. And every angle of this showed keeping himself away from them would keep them safest.

He was no good for her, this wasn't news. He'd known it since he met her. She was a good girl from a respectable family, people who looked like they cared about her. She'd probably never done anything illegal until she came here, and now she carried a gun under her skirts at all times because of _him._

Alfie refused to look at the giant gaping hole in his chest, the one that told him he was fucking terrified. He wanted to cower in a corner, because he couldn't be a father, didn't know the first thing about it and would inevitably fuck up a kid. But even if he kept himself away, let Mabel handle raising it, there were still piss pots like Billy Hill in the world. Or the fucking Russians, who apparently thought kidnapping infants was the way to get what you wanted, which in their defence, might have worked. He'd never seen Tommy Shelby look more unglued then when his boy had been taken.

No. Fuck it, he was done with thinking about this. Mabel had to take the child far, far away from him, before he ruined both of their lives. She needed to run. He would do everything he could to make sure she was safe and the kid was provided for, but he couldn't if he was constantly fucking paralysed by fear. He'd done nothing but think about Mabel and their baby all day. Fuck's sake, their _baby._ The word was daunting.

When Alfie got back to his office, Abe fucked off to somewhere and he threw his hat down on the desk and groaned his way into his chair. It had been a long damn day, and he was fucking done. He looked at the phone in front of him and thought about calling Mabel. He thought about kissing her sweet mouth and tucking his nose into her neck and just breathing while he wrapped his hands around her trim waist. Although not trim for much longer. He had a flash of himself standing behind her, her belly large with their child, wrapping his arms around both of them and holding on tight. Then, as if he'd released a dam, a flood of images came unbidden. Mabel tucked in his bed, holding a bundle of blanket and kissing a smooth, bald head. Mabel organising the baby's room, which used to be his office, he could just move his desk out into the corner of the sitting room. He could see the kid at two years old, a little boy in knee socks or a girl in pigtails, either way hopefully looking a lot more like Mabel than him. The child would hold Mabel's hand while they talked, walking to the market or to temple, smiling and chatting.

Alfie allowed himself to close his eyes, cherishing that one image before shoving it in a brand new box and locking it in the furthest reaches of his mind. Because in none of those images could he picture himself. He could help her, send her money, find the best nanny, whatever she needed. If she wanted this baby, he wanted that for her. But he was poison.

He looked at his hands, too big, too hard, too calloused, squeezing them into fists on his wooden desktop. He couldn't do this, couldn't keep thinking like this, all the fucking time. It was on a loop, spinning over and over through the same-fucking hell, he had to get out of here. He'd tapped the barrel he'd taken from Mabel a lifetime ago, and it was sitting in his cellar sounding pretty fucking good right now. Maybe he'd crawl in and find his way out later. Like, 18 years later.

Alfie dropped Abe off at his flat before heading home. The windows were dark, which meant Rowena was gone for the night, and that suited him just fine. He didn't need her motherly clucking when he was about to get pissed out of his fucking mind as a temporary solution to his problems.

Peaches greeted him at the door, her tail thumping and her face in a happy smile. She was at her full size now, and he was going to have to start taking her with him during the day. She got bored, and she chewed. Besides, Alfie liked her. She was a good dog, and even if she literally wouldn't hurt a fly, the people sitting in the chair across from him didn't need to know that. Of course, if she looked at them the way she was looking at him now, no one would ever be intimidated. Alfie smiled despite himself and ruffled her ears.

"Come on, girl. Let's get a drink, eh? We're gonna have to work on your poker face."

He left the lights off, grabbed a decanter and a generous glass and walked right past the note on the end table.

* * *

Three days. It had been three days since she found out Wilma had been stealing from her. Three days since she asked Alfie to call her so she could explain. Three days since she promised herself that she would not run after him, especially if this was his answer to how he would deal with a baby (should that situation ever arise). Her parents were going home today. They had been here for a week and she loved them, and would miss them, and had enjoyed their visit. And even though she would trade large sums of money to talk to Alfie, she was so grateful not to have been alone. She had to get up and put on a happy face and make breakfast and pretend she was fine. She had to traipse all over London showing them sites she took for granted and buildings she'd visited when she first arrived and then hadn't since. If she'd been alone, she would have locked herself in her room and cried, no matter what strong woman bullshit she'd told herself. This was better, and she was thankful to have them here.

But they would be gone in a few hours. Which left her with a bakery that was falling apart, a relationship that was falling apart, and no one to talk to about either thing.

Mabel stood in front of her wardrobe, her parents insisting on making breakfast for their final meal together, and she made a decision. She was tired of living on the back foot, tired of waiting on a fucking man to hand her her fate. She made her own. Mabel pulled a wine coloured dress toward her, because she knew it made her look fantastic, and it toed the line between business and sexy. She didn't normally flirt with that line, but she was going to set up a meeting today, and God help anyone that got in her way.

She used the phone in the hall to set up the meeting for that afternoon and joined her parents around her small kitchen/dining room table. She listened to her mother chatter about the trip and talked to her father about going back to the office, And after exchanging hugs and kisses and promises to write and visit and call, she saw her parents to the train station. Then she bought her own ticket.

"One, to Birmingham, please."

* * *

She sat in Tommy Shelby's house, in Tommy Shelby's office, across the desk from Tommy Shelby himself and felt strangely in control. Her wardrobe choice felt right, not because it influenced him, because it clearly didn't. She could have been wearing a burlap sack for all he saw her, and she liked that and didn't like that more than she'd admit. But she was glad of it because it made her feel settled in her own skin, ready, like armour. She stared Tommy down, his ice blue eyes hard and cold.

He pulled a small tin of cigarettes out of his inside pocket and offered one to her. Her, "No, thank you," sounded loud, but steady to her own ears.

"Mr Shelby, I came here to ask you a specific question."

Tommy tapped the cigarette he'd selected against the tin before tucking it in his lips and returning the tin to his jacket. "I'd assumed." He lit the cigarette and inhaled. "Go on, then."

"How much do you know about Wilma Fitzgerald?"

Tommy's eyes were flat, no reaction portrayed, and his small frown measured and calculated.

"I don't know what you mean."

She'd expected nothing less. "Mmm, yes, I'm sure you don't," Mabel said drily. "I mean, of course, that you're using her for information on me, but I wonder how much you know about _her._ "

He took a long drag, delaying his response, and Mabel waited. Alfie played this game too, and it bored her. It didn't make her uncomfortable or put her in her place. It simply took longer for them to say the six words they were going to say so she could move on.

When Tommy reached forward to tap the ash from the end of his cigarette, Mabel moved on without his six words.

"For example, were you aware that she has a husband, and a mother, and a small son to provide for-"

"Does she?" Tommy's emotionless words cut through her speech, and he was unflinching. "Are you sure about that?"

Mabel swallowed her knee jerk reaction to defend her friend and thought about what he'd said. She had talked to Wilma, hours upon hours of talking. They'd bonded, shared stories, commiserated and laughed together. But despite the stories, she'd never met Dan. She'd never seen a picture of him or seen anything he'd drawn or coloured, and she'd never visited the home Wilma shared with her mother. Her lips thinned, and she swallowed her anger at herself, for being stupid and not vetting people she was hiring. But it didn't matter. That's not why she was here, and she would not let Tommy Shelby distract her.

"Actually, I'm not sure about that," she admitted and Tommy's nod was almost imperceptible. "But she must have someone," Mabel continued, "because otherwise how is Billy Hilly using her to get information about you?"

Tommy didn't move except to exhale a cloud of smoke. He licked his lips and tapped out his cigarette, then leaned back in his chair. His hands were folded carefully in front of him. "Alright," he drawled. "I'm listening."

"To what?" Mabel burst out in exasperation. Her voice was loud in the still house, and Tommy looked slightly surprised, but Mabel didn't care anymore. "I'm not selling anything here. I'm not a spy. I don't have a super complex plan to take over your business, and then the country, and then the world." She huffed out a laugh. "I'm busy enough as it is."

Tommy didn't smile back. "Then why are you telling me this?"

"You mean why am I telling you the truth? About Wilma and Billy Hill?" At Tommy's slow blink, she sighed. "Mr Shelby, I was raised to tell the truth. So that's what you get. Here's some more truth for you. I am not your enemy. I just want to run my business."

He took his time adjusting his cuffs. "And Alfie?"

Mabel hardened. Her jaw slid into its stubborn stance, she could feel it happen. "I won't talk about Alfie with you. But know this: you will not get to Alfie through me."

Tommy raised an eyebrow and waited. He had all the time in the world.

Mabel thought about how to explain this in a way that would shut him down now, so she wouldn't be dealing with Peaky Blinders up her arse for the rest of time. "Mr Shelby, do you ride?"

He cocked his head, considering her. "Yes," he conceded.

"I don't. When I was small, I fell off a horse. A pony, really. It didn't throw me, I just fell. I wasn't hurt, not badly, and my parents tried everything to get me back up, but I refused. I haven't ridden since then, and I have no interest in doing so." Mabel laced her fingers together, setting them on her knee. "I don't profess to be anything I'm not, Mr Shelby. If I want something I go after it. But I know my limits and I protect myself. You will not fool me again, I can promise you that. I am the living embodiment of 'once bitten, twice shy.'"

Tommy watched her, sitting ramrod straight in the chair. "No," he murmured. "No, I don't think 'shy' is the word for you."

Mabel wasn't sure what he meant by that, but she'd said her piece, and he'd said his obligatory six words, and now it was time to leave. She nodded her thanks, and rose. Tommy rose as well and didn't seem surprised when she reached out her hand to shake his.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Mr Shelby. If you ever need to know anything about me, just call me."

She did get a small wry smile out of him at that. "And Alfie?" he teased.

She grinned back at him. "If you need anything from Alfie, just call _him_."

He huffed out a small laugh and walked her out.

* * *

Mabel stepped off the train as the sun was setting. She had to shield herself against the glare in order to meet his eyes, but of course she would know him by far less than his silhouette.

"Alfie," she greeted him warily.

"Mabe," he said back, taking her elbow and steering her toward his car, his fingers hard. "How was your meeting?"

Mabel sighed. "Fine, but when we get there, I get to talk for ten minutes and you don't get to interrupt me."

Alfie's mouth was a grim line and he didn't look at her. "Mmph."


	37. DIY Sequitur

A/N: had a few more glasses of wine than would normally be considered "appropriate" in order to edit this chapter. Let's just say, I liked it a lot more when I got done. Any errors you see are mine, but not entirely my fault. Some of it was the wine.

* * *

When Alfie pulled up to the house, he got out of the car and slammed the door. He didn't open Mabel's door as he usually did, he didn't wait for her to follow. He stalked through his entryway, turning on lights and pushing Peaches into the back garden unceremoniously. He left his hat, coat, and walking stick by the front door, then stormed into his office.

Mabel watched him, her hat and gloves clutched in her hands, her coat still on, and unsure of her footing. When he went into the office, still without looking at her, she released the breath she hadn't realised she was holding in a huff. _"Damn you Alfie Solomons for being an arse just because you are frustrated. Well, I'm frustrated too, and I can play your silly game, but I refuse to because I am a bloody_ adult."

She'd expected the gun to be on the desktop, or in place of that, a large tumbler of alcohol. But Alfie had neither, just his hands steepled in front of his chin, an unreadable expression on his face. Mabel glared and settled in the chair in front of him. Alfie didn't move, just stared into her, with eyes so hard she thought they might cut.

"I met with Tommy because of Wilma," she blurted, then wished she'd started with the baby instead. Because it had been on her mind for a week, she hadn't seen Alfie in all that time, and it was the one thing she wanted him to hear from her lips. Instead, she'd clucked her annoyance at him, like a proper git.

She opened her mouth to say something else instead, when Alfie barked, "Why." But it wasn't a question. It was a demand.

Mabel frowned. "Well, I wanted to talk to you first, I tried to talk to you, I left a message-"

Alfie slammed a fist into his desk hard enough that Mabel jumped, her words ending in an undignified squeak.

"WHY." His voice was a disturbing amount of calm.

"Fine," Mabel gritted her teeth at him. "Wilma was spying on me and reporting to Tommy," Mabel spoke quickly, but more calmly than she felt. "She was also stealing from me. Tommy was paying her for the information, which I'm sure she was gladly accepting, but she was also being used by Billy Hill to get information on Tommy. I went to tell him that, and also to tell him he didn't need to pay anyone for information on me, since I wasn't his enemy."

"How very generous of you," Alfie commented, and there was genuine heat in his voice. Mabel blinked at him, then looked down when she noticed her fingers shaking. Curious. She felt a surge of exhaustion wash over her and she wanted this to be over, to get back to where they worked so well together. She was tired of the distinct lack of Alfie in her life, it was colourless. It would be such a relief to climb in Alfie's lap and kiss away the angry frown between his eyebrows. He looked awful, like he hadn't slept or eaten.

"And how do you know all of this?" Alfie continued, not quite glaring at her.

"Well," Mabel started slower, looking at the desk, "I figured out she was spying on me after you said Tommy told you I was pregnant." She glanced up at him, then back down, clenching her fingers in her lap. The impersonal look in his eyes was almost unbearable. "She was the only one besides Rowena that could have passed on something like that, and I don't think Rowena would do that. So I started thinking. I checked the books at the bakery, but she was shorting orders or cancelling them altogether and pocketing the money. She knew I always reviewed the books, but she'd taken over walking the floor, so she knew she wouldn't get caught unless it was slow enough that the crew could talk to me, or if I was bored enough that I went to talk to them. So she made sure the crew was plenty busy and tried to be my friend." Mabel made sure her voice didn't shake, but she thought Alfie might know her well enough anyway to see how much that had hurt her.

Mabel barreled on. "She took me dancing, and even though she didn't give me the drink, she definitely made sure I had one. The more I think about it, the cleverer I realise it was, and what a good little actress she really is." Here, Mabel met Alfie's eyes. "Something she said, something about the way she talked that night, and I realised she was in on it, whoever gave me the drink."

Alfie said nothing, his face giving away nothing.

"That club is owned by Billy Hill, isn't it?" she asked, her voice hard.

At Alfie's nod, she relaxed a little. "That's what I thought. She needed me to be distracted or out of the picture. Billy needed you to be distracted or out of the picture. They thought they could kill two birds with one stone by poisoning me." Mabel shook her head at Alfie's fists tightening on his desk, but her eyes slipped closed briefly. Whatever happened here tonight, Alfie was still Alfie, who got outraged on her behalf. She pushed aside sentiment and ploughed ahead. "When I didn't drink enough for it to be lethal, Wilma planted in my head that I might be pregnant, and then spread the rumour that I was."

Mabel licked her lips, her fingers pinching the fabric of her skirt nervously. "Alfie, before I go any further, you should know that Wilma and I spent a lot of time together... talking." A muscle in Alfie's jaw flexed.

"About... ?" Alfie prompted, his voice gravelly from disuse.

"You, mostly," Mabel answered, her voice low. "I mean," she hastened when he stiffened, "she talked about her husband Danny and I was just talking about you too, the way women do, and I was extremely careful at first, but toward the end, I might have been... less so. I didn't say your name, but it's not exactly a secret it was you..." she cringed at her own stupidity, not quite able to meet Alfie's eyes. "I think she was giving the information to Billy Hill, and he was... maybe more aware of your activities than he would have been otherwise." God, just shoot her now. The way Alfie was looking at her was fucking murder anyway.

A long silence stretched between them, and Mabel sat there feeling very stupid and vulnerable, not daring to say another word until Alfie had processed that.

Finally, Alfie breached the gulf and asked, "And how do you know she was spying on Tommy too?"

"Oh, I don't know that for sure. I just figured it was true, then spread the rumour that she was."

And it might have been wishful thinking, but Mabel was sure she saw Alfie's lips twitch at that, before settling into a grim line.

"Mabel," Alfie started, and Mabel frowned, readying herself for battle. He would yell, and rant, and rave at her, and she would yell right back because that's what they did. They pushed each other and pulled each other, and respected each other. But Alfie set his hands on the desk softly and looked at her.

"You can't be here anymore, you have to go away. We can't be together anymore."

Mabel felt the blood drain from her face. _"Wait... what?"_ Her mouth dropped open because her body's natural response to most scenarios was to spew words, but nothing came out. She stared at Alfie's lips, which were moving like he was speaking, but the only thing she could hear was GOAWAY over and over again. The roaring in her ears drowned out all sound and thought, and she tried to focus on Alfie's lips.

… safe...

… Camden…

… parents…

… sorry.

It was the "sorry" that turned the sound back on. She'd never known Alfie to apologise, ever, and now she'd missed it because she was gaping at him like a fish.

"Wait… what?" Mabel finally croaked, blinking. "Go away? You're _sorry_?! You're dropping me, just like that? Because I had a meeting with Tommy Shelby?" Mabel stood, her heart beating too fast and her sweaty palms bunching at her sides. "Well fuck you very much, Alfie Solomons! I mean, what the hell!?" She glared with all her might, fury and nausea rolling through her in equal amounts. She hung on to her anger with both hands, because if she didn't, she feared she may crumple into a ball and sob.

"No," Alfie said. His voice was harsh and Mabel's spine stiffened. "This isn't about Tommy Shelby, I'm not going to discuss that with you. Even though you should _bloody talk to me about things like that_!" Alfie's fists tightened, his rings standing out in sharp relief. The silence left after his outburst was deafening.

Mabel huffed air out her nose and managed not to roll her eyes at the most deadly gangster in London. "Again. I _tried_ to talk to you first. But it doesn't matter because I would have bloody _told_ you about it. Like I just did. No yelling match needed."

Alfie scowled at her, his jaw clenching. Mabel scowled back.

 _"No. This isn't how this is supposed to go. I was going to fix this, not make it worse."_ Mabel took a breath and tried to steady herself. She put her hands on her hips and stared at the floor.

"So if this isn't about Tommy Shelby, then, I admit, Wilma was a mistake. But I was trying to fix it." She didn't dare look at him, she had no idea what her face was doing. When she came in she had been frustrated, and anxious and a tiny bit ashamed, but now she could only focus on either mending this or self-preservation. There was no middle ground.

 _"But… but what if he's right?"_ her traitorous head whispered. Mabel had put him in danger, she had fucked up his business and her own, and anyone else would have been fed a bullet already.

"I…" she started, pausing to work past the clench of her heart. She knew it was earned, but the cold stare he was pointing at her was physically painful.

His angry growl stopped her for a moment, but his hand reaching across the desk froze her in place. "Mabel, this isn't about Wilma." His hand lay open, his palm up, and she wasn't sure what he was doing. She just looked at it, confused.

"This is about the baby." He seemed to pause to collect himself, but she couldn't stop staring at his damnable hand, sitting there open, expectant, waiting patiently. Everything that Alfie was not. "I'm trying to do what's best for you both. It's safer for you outside of Camden. You could live with your parents, or if you don't want to do that, I can pay for you to stay wherever you want until the baby's born."

She switched her eyes from his hand to his face, and to her surprise, there was no anger there. His brow was furrowed, his face gaunt and drawn, but in truth, he looked like she felt. She felt a relief sweeter than any she'd known flood her bones.

"Oh, Alfie," she said, thumping into her seat again and reaching forward to take his hand. His thick fingers curled around hers, the same possessiveness that had always been there between them, and it warmed her. "There's no baby."

The reaction in Alfie was immediate. He jerked back from her like he'd been burned, hurt and horror and betrayal on his face. Then, faster than she could track, he schooled his features once more, his lips pursed, and he cleared his throat.

"Ah," he stated, then cleared his throat again, scowling at the desk. "Well, I mean, that's what I had said, so I understand that you... changed your mind about keeping it, but I just didn't realise that it could be done so soon, so I wasn't expecting-"

"Alfie," Mabel interrupted, "no, no, no, I mean there never was a baby. I was never pregnant." She watched a new flood of emotions cross Alfie's face, and she couldn't catalogue them all, but she thought she saw disappointment in there. "Did you... do you _want_ a baby?" she asked, her voice tentative, confused.

Alfie frowned at her. "No, I... No, Mabel, I don't." It was said roughly like he was defending himself.

"Okay then. Neither do I."

Alfie's frown stayed in place. "Okay then."

"Okay."

They sat for a moment, blinking at each other, before Mabel asked, "Wait… wait a damn minute, you were going to send me away because I was pregnant with your child?"

Alfie blinked, frowned, then glared. "I was doing what was best for you. I was protecting our baby from all of this." He gestured vaguely to the office, the city, the world he lived in. Mabel glared right back.

"So if you do actually manage to get me pregnant some day, this is what I can expect? To be treated like garbage, put out on the kerb, and hope someone else picks me up?"

"No! 'Course not!" Alfie said, pushing a frustrated hand through his hair. "You pose a threat, but I'm trying to make it so you can defend yourself. You do remember how to shoot, right?"

Alfie got a sneer in response and almost a pistol in his face, but she decided at the last second that was not "mending things" and held off.

"Well, a baby can't defend itself, so I was doing it. This is no life for a child. Ever. So, yeah, if you get knocked up, plan on it. Plan on going somewhere safe, so I can keep you safe, so your child can grow up in a relatively normal household."

For a moment, Mabel didn't say anything, and Alfie sat in the tentative silence.

"Our child," Mabel said softly, her eyes never leaving his.

Alfie cocked his head, clearly confused. "What?"

"You said, 'your child'," Mabel said. "It would be _our_ child." She met his eyes, determination in every line of her body. "If I were pregnant, it would be our child. You don't just get to push your responsibilities into another town and forget about them."

"I never said I was…" Alfie exploded, then fisted his hand into his hair again. "There IS no child!" he said. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want to know!" Mabel yelled right back. "Because I want to know that if the "worst" thing imaginable for you _actually_ happened, what would the fierce and terrible Alfie Solomons do about it? Huh?"

"Is that why you perpetrated this for as long as you did?" Alfie said. "You thought, "hey, what fun, let's toy with Alfie and see what he does"? And what did you decide? Hmm? Did I pass your little test?"

Mabel bristled even more. "I wasn't testing you, you selfish wanker, YOU NEVER EVEN ASKED ME!" She wished, for a moment, that she didn't have to raise her voice, that Alfie would listen and understand, and she could be the dutiful, good, wholesome woman her mother wanted her to be. Then she listened as Alfie hit the ceiling and knew she would only ever be as good as she gave. But boy, could she give it.

Alfie fumed. "Who the hell do you think you are that I need to ask you things like, "Oh, hey, Ms Ziemann, by the by, word on the street is that you're carrying my child, care to comment on that?"

Mabel fumed right back. "How about, "Hey, Mabel, executive of my branch of business and trusted college, I heard a disturbing rumour about you, but because I know you wouldn't lie to me I decided to find out from you if it's true before I jump to conclusions."

"Well who the hell talks like that?" Alfie yelled, his face red.

"Well obviously not you, you git!" Mabel yelled.

And with that, Alfie sat back, his own mouth hanging open. He blinked a few times before his lips settled into a twitch, and then he busted into a genuine grin.

Mabel was still breathing hard, so it took her a second to recognise Alfie's smile for what it was. When she finally realised, he had moved on to chuckling, and by the time he got to laughing, full-out, belly laughs, and they were contagious as hell.

Mabel couldn't help it. She felt her lips morph into a smile without her say-so, and before she knew it, she was laughing along with him. They both had tears in their eyes when they finally wound down, Mabel shaking her head at herself, at Alfie, at the whole damned situation.

"What are we doing here, Alfie?"

He just looked at her, his eyes fond and his mouth still smiling. "I don't know, Mabe."

"I missed you so damn much, I don't want to fight with you."

"Me either," Alfie admitted, his eyes crinkling with warmth, and Mabel leant forward, her hand extended over the desktop.

"Hey," she said as Alfie took her hand, "who ever said I wanted a normal household?"

Alfie sobered somewhat, his eyes searching hers. "Don't you?"

Mabel fought down a smile. "Alfie, I didn't actually think I'd need to say this, but I want _you_." She squeezed his fingers. "And all the things that go with that, good and bad."

The humour dropped from his face, even though he left his hand where it was. "There's more bad than good, love. What if it happens for real?"

"Then we'll deal with it together," Mabel said simply. "We are a good team. We balance each other, I think." She waited for Alfie's faint nod, before continuing. "If that ever happened, I'd hope we'd sit down and talk about what we really want, whatever that is, at that time." She shrugged and gave him a small smile. "I'm not sure I'll ever want children, to be honest, but things change. I've changed, since I met you." She squeezed his hand again. "And I like it." She smiled at him, warm and genuine. His eyes met hers, and she saw something there that she wasn't sure she'd ever seen on Alfie's face before. Hope.

"Alfie?" she asked.

"Yeah," he rasped. "Yeah, I want that too." He scraped his nails on his free hand over his beard, then pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Alfie?"

When he met her eyes, she leant forward. "I'm going to kiss you now, and we can work out the rest later. Okay?"

His brow crinkled, but he licked his lips. "Mmph. Yeah, okay."

"Okay," Mabel said as she moved around the desk. Alfie looked dazed, and when she reached for his hand, he gave it over easily. She grasped it, bigger and stronger than her own, running her thumb over the back, then turning it over. Mabel traced his square fingers with her own before she pressed a kiss to the centre of his palm. She curled his fingers into a fist and raised it to rest next to his heart, and then leant forward and kissed him, just the barest brush of lips, soft and slow and quiet.

Mabel felt his soft exhale more than she heard it, but her chest clenched at the way it shuddered out, like he'd been holding it for far too long. She knew how that felt, and she moved to smooth kisses over his cheeks, his forehead, and his nose. When she reached his mouth again, he pulled back abruptly, and she blinked at him in surprise.

Alfie gazed at her intently, taking her by the chin and drawing her in. She expected him to kiss her properly, but instead, she found his shaggy head tucked under her jaw, his hand cupping her cheek. His breath tickled as he breathed out, but she smiled. She stroked his back, slowly, down his arms and back up. She had missed him so. She had missed his warmth and his presence, his voice and his touches, and it seemed she wasn't the only one. Slowly, she dropped to her knee in front of him, his ancient chair creaking as he leant back.

"Alfie," she murmured, her voice soft. "Let me take care of you."

He said nothing, but his bright eyes watched her as she ran her hands over his chest, and pushed his shirt front up. When her fingers rested at the top button of his trousers, his eyes fluttered shut and Mabel watched him swallow, hard.

She caught her smile with her teeth and began to unfasten him. Button by button, she shifted cloth out of the way until she reached bare flesh. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears and her mouth watered as she drew him out, loving the soft velvet of his skin and the heady musk of his scent. She started with the lightest of touches, skimming her fingers over his length and listening for the hitch in his breath. Then she swept her lips over him, dropping kisses and then tiny licks up and down him. When she finally fitted her lips over the crown, Alfie groaned deep in his chest and shifted. He slid down in his chair, giving her better access and spread his knees further.

Mabel met his eyes from her position on the floor and liked the heat she saw there. He watched her, his mouth open slightly, his breath coming faster as she opened her lips, little by little, keeping her tongue flat and taking in more and more of him. She rounded out her throat, sliding him just that little bit further, making her eyes water and making Alfie curse as he curled his fingers into her arms.

"Fuck," he breathed, "you are so perfect. That feels amazing."

Mabel pulled back, sucking in air and using her hand to spread the saliva over his length and when she started again, she used her hand to meet her mouth, adding a twist that made Alfie's hips buck up unintentionally. Soft curses rained down every time she switched her technique, fast to slow, deep to shallow, licks to sucks. When she pulled off completely to blow a thin stream of cool air over him, Alfie lost his mind.

"Holy God damn Mabe, you're fucking killing me," he groaned, his voice low and gravelly. Hearing his voice like that made Mabel throb and she looked up at him through her lashes. He was beautiful. He'd had one hand buried in his hair, pulling the strands until they stuck up from his head, his lip was bitten until it was swollen, his panting breath harsh in the otherwise still house. Mabel fixed him with a particularly heated look, and drew one last lick, from base to tip, drawing out a sound from Alfie she would add to her personal favourites. Then she got to work, setting up a rhythm that was brutal and unrelenting, even as Alfie came undone above her.

"God, yes..."

"Just like... ah... so good..."

"Mabe... I'm not... it's been too long..."

"Mabe..."

She slid her fist up and down his shaft, meeting her mouth and pumping him closer and closer to the edge.

"God... MABE!"

At that, she slid her hand inside his trousers to cup his bollocks as she swallowed him down until he hit the back of her throat. And then she _moaned_.

"Ah FUCK!" Alfie shouted at the same time the warm liquid burst across her tongue. Alfie scrambled back, still pulsing, and a final stripe landed across her cheek.

"Oh, God, Mabe... I'm... I didn't mean to make you..."

But he broke off as Mabel nudged forward, fastening her lips around him and licking him clean. When it got to be too much, he pressed on her shoulder until she leant away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes smiling at him.

"You didn't make me do anything."

Her voice was wrecked, but Alfie's eyes were wide with wonder as he leant toward her, cupping her face in his hands. He pressed an out of breath kiss to her lips and then swiped his thumb over her cheek, showing it to her before wiping it on his trouser leg. Alfie flopped, boneless, back in his chair, and said, "That was a good look on you. You should wear me more often."

"Why, Alfie Solomons!" Mabel said, grinning. "How dare you say such a thing. I am a lady." Then she tucked him away and stood, brushing the knee prints out of her skirt.

Alfie snorted, smirking. He accepted her hand up, leaning heavily on her as she groaned and made a big show of hauling him down the hall.

"Ugh, why are you so... oof! ... bloody heavy?"

"Most of it's in my trousers, love," Alfie murmured sleepily.

Mabel's lips twitched as she shifted his weight. "Well, can you lean forward then so you can prop yourself up while I let the dog in?"

"Mmph," he grunted, but she could hear his smile hidden behind his beard.

She ducked from underneath his arm and opened the door to the back garden, where Peaches was waiting not-so-patiently. She jumped and twirled and almost knocked Mabel down in her excitement, her tail thumping against everything.

"Hey, girl! Did you... oof! ... miss me?" Mabel caught her paws as Peaches tried to lick her hands, wrists, anything she could reach. "Goodness, what is it with you two, trying to knock me down? Yes, yes, I missed you too," Mabel muttered, scratching and petting the dog, who could scarcely contain herself. When she stood, she caught Alfie leaning against the wall and looking at her with an odd look on his face. "What?"

Alfie just shook his head and leant forward to grasp her elbow. "Come to bed."

"Yeah, alright," she said in mock exasperation, "I don't know what you think I was doing..."

Alfie was almost able to hide his smile, but he couldn't stop watching her. Later, she felt his eyes on her as she undressed for bed, and she stretched, loving the power his gaze lent her. When they were both under the heavy duvet, Alfie pulled her toward him, curving around behind her and taking deep breaths of her hair.

He would eventually roll away, or she would get too warm and slide to the cool section of the sheets, but that was okay. For now, it felt perfect. She whispered goodnight and he grunted, and as his breathing evened out and his arm around her waist got looser and heavier, she gave in, and let it bloom in her chest. Hope. Her head got muzzier, and even though she wanted the moment to last, just before she fell asleep in Alfie's arms, she thought, _"This. This is the moment I want to live in forever."_


	38. DIY Boss's Orders

Alfie came awake in stages. It was quiet, it was too early. He was sleep-heavy and warm, and he didn't want to get up, but he needed the loo. He groaned and stretched, figuring he could put it off a few more minutes.

That's when he felt the rustle of movement beside him and he was soon smothered in a warm, pliant, female blanket.

"Mmm…" Mabel hummed. "I don't hear anything, so it can't be time to get up yet." She yawned, then burrowed deeper next to him. "What are you doing up?"

Alfie cracked an eyelid and shifted to see her sleepy face. Her brown curls stuck to her cheek, she had pillow lines on her forehead, she was flushed and… and beautiful. He focused on the almost translucent freckles across the bridge of her nose that you couldn't see anytime except this close-up. He wanted to tuck them in his pocket for a rainy day. Alfie felt the urge, no, the _need_ to lean forward and kiss those faint marks, then her pillow lines and cheekbones and lips and neck and collarbones…

"Mmph," Alfie said, rolling away. "Loo."

He sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from her, and tried to pull himself together. A part of him hated this weakness, this need that she excavated in him. She had said last night that she'd changed. Well, she wasn't the only one.

Alfie felt her fingers on his back, at his waistband, familiar and exciting at the same time, and he forced himself to pull away. She didn't say anything as he left the room, but he could feel her eyes on him as he walked away.

He took his time, facing himself in the mirror and staring down the villain he always saw there. He had long ago come to terms with the evil he brought into the world. He perpetrated corruption and maliciousness, and at the end of the day he sought forgiveness, but he kept doing it. He did it because he had no other path in this world, and he walked the row he was given. In his way, when it was possible, he worked to remove the wickedness he couldn't control and reign in the wrong he could, but it was also self-serving.

He wasn't good. He would never consider himself a good man, not the way Mabel was good. She came to him, pure and wholesome, and he had sullied her, and he didn't deserve her. And yet… when he looked at her, curled next to him, soft and accepting, he wanted nothing more than to take, and take, and take. He wanted to spread her over himself like a balm or an ointment, something to make himself better, and yet the more often he did it, the more he wanted. She opened an unfathomably deep chasm in himself he hadn't known existed previously.

The Alfie in the mirror splashed water on his face and towelled it off, a blank slate that could be concealing a violent and volatile criminal, or, apparently, a whining, needy child.

When he entered the kitchen, Mabel rose from the table, fully dressed and perfectly coiffed, and Alfie felt a sense of loss like he'd missed an opportunity. She pressed a cup of tea in his hands and a kiss to his bearded cheek. When she sat again, he pulled out a chair and sat at the end of the table, watching her add sugar to her own cuppa. She didn't appear upset, or needy, just her normal cheerful self, and Alfie _wanted_. He didn't just want her in his bed, he wanted her in his house, at his table, in his life.

He cleared his throat.

Mabel looked up, her hands pausing in their work as she waited for him to speak.

"Ah…" he fumbled, "I didn't expect you'd be up."

Mabel gave a half shrug, returning to her task. "Turns out Peaches needed the loo too," she grinned.

She waited until he had tea in his mouth before she said, "We need to finish talking about yesterday."

He put his tea down and wiped his moustache with his napkin, waiting.

"You can't do that to me anymore, Alfie. You don't get to decide when I leave. I'm a big girl, I get to decide that."

Her voice was lighthearted, simple. She, very obviously, didn't want to fight, and he didn't either, but his face was sombre when he said, "It's not a safe life, Mabe."

"I know that Alfie, you think I don't know that?" Her hand covered his on the table top. "I'm choosing _you_. And I hope you're choosing me too. We work better together, when we talk and tell each other what's going on. If I'd involved you when I hired Wilma, you'd have made sure she checked out. If you'd have asked me about being pregnant, I could have cleared it up, no stomach churning involved. Well," she amended, "minimal stomach churning."

She tried on a small smile, but it died when Alfie couldn't return it. He sighed, turning his hand over and grasping hers. "I have to do what's best for you. If you were to get pregnant, I can't have you fight me on this. It'd be my responsibility to keep the baby safe, you have to _let me_."

Mabel quieted, thinking. "Can't we decide together what's safe?"

"No."

Alfie's tone brooked no argument and he watched her wince but he couldn't back down, not on this.

It was Mabel's turn to sigh. Alfie waited again. His gut was clenched, but he was determined to keep her from knowing his anxiety right now. He wasn't a bloody adolescent who couldn't separate feelings from reality, and he certainly wasn't going to let Mabel do it either. She needed to decide, right now, if this was a deal breaker for her, and she needed to do it based on what she thought about it, not him.

"So… if I get pregnant, I'm getting shipped off to somewhere else, and I don't get a say in it. That sounds an awful lot like being punished for carrying your child."

Alfie refused to be baited, just sat, his fingers curled around hers, and waited. Mabel sucked on her lip, her eyes staring at their entwined hands.

"And if I refuse?"

He blinked. "Refuse what, exactly?"

Mabel looked at him, her eyes steady and determined. "Look, I don't like this. I don't like the, "You'll do what I tell you, when I tell you, and I don't care what you want." That's not what I signed up for. I understand you wanting to keep me… us… safe, but to what end?"

"To the end where you don't get killed, obviously." Alfie's patience was starting to wear down.

His wasn't the only one, apparently, as Mabel's voice rose, her fingers gripping his. "Fine, but at what cost? So your son can grow up without a father? Or your daughter can live a life in hiding?" Mabel shook his hand, looking like she really wanted to shake him instead. "Do you really expect me to never see you again? That's a pretty big consequence for something I can't entirely control."

Alfie thought for a moment, letting them both calm down. He removed his hand from hers and took a long drink. Finally, he set the cup down, wiped his lips and threw the napkin on the table.

"If I admit that you might have a point," Alfie said, "can you at least admit that I might have a point as well?"

Mabel beamed at him, joy radiating from her face, and he decided conceding to Mabel in the future might not always be a bad thing. Not if she looked at him like that.

"Mmph," he grunted as she grabbed his hand again, stilling her. "I'm going to tell you a story, so you understand."

She sobered, and nodded. "Okay," she said, but she kept his hand in hers.

Alfie told Mabel about Tommy Shelby, Grace Shelby, and their baby boy. He explained that after Grace died, their son had been kidnapped. Tommy turned the entire Russian mafia inside out so he could get his boy back, and even though it had cost Alfie dearly, he eventually told Tommy he didn't have anything to do with it. He didn't want him to think that of him, not with the devastation that had been etched into Tommy's face.

"I don't think I could do it, Mabe," Alfie said. "I think if that had been my son, I'd have lost my fucking mind. I can't…"

Alfie couldn't articulate it, but thank God, Mabel understood. He could see it in her face.

"Okay," she said, her voice thick. "Okay. I understand. But, Alfie," she said, forcing him to meet her eyes, "sending me… _us_ away isn't really a fool-proof solution either. So many things could go wrong, and you wouldn't be there to protect us."

Alfie's lips thinned, but Mabel rushed in again.

"I'm not saying I won't go!" she said, and Alfie felt his gut unclench. "I'm just saying that I won't stay away forever. And IF the scenario we are talking about actually comes to pass, you and I will think of something. Okay?"

Her face was hesitant and, he realised, fearful.

"Don't push me away," she whispered.

He sat up straight and used their joined hands to pull her to standing. He tugged her towards him until he could pull her down for a kiss, pretending he didn't notice the slightly desperate edge the kiss shared or the wetness on Mabel's cheeks. He did, however, pull her into his lap and kiss her some more.

* * *

Alfie was reading the paper in his favourite chair next to a roaring fire and feeling, for the first time in he couldn't remember how long, content. It was almost odd in its normality. He closed his eyes, to soak in the simplicity, quiet, and peace.

"Fuck," Mabel muttered.

He glanced over to the couch, where she sat tugging stitches out of her knitting and muttering under her breath. Her fingers were getting more and more frustrated and before she could throw the whole mess in the bin, Alfie decided he'd better intervene.

"Billy Hill is a problem," Alfie said, still staring at his paper.

Mabel was quiet for a tick, then, "Oh?"

"Mmph."

"How's that, then?"

Alfie shrugged a shoulder. "He's the kind of guy that kidnaps children and poisons girlfriends. I need to take him out."

He could practically hear Mabel thinking. "Oh. So, what's the problem, again?"

Alfie ruffled the paper he was hiding behind. "Can't exactly have it come back to me now, can I?"

He waited to hear what she thought but nothing came over the top of the paper. Alfie folded down the edge of the page to glance at her and found her staring back at him.

"What are you doing?" she accused him.

"Uh," he said, folding up the paper, "talking?"

Mabel blinked and then looked embarrassed. "Oh." She busied her hands again, plucking at stitches and Alfie watched her, curious.

"What are you doing?"

Mabel gave a half-laugh, half-sigh and bundled the knitting off her lap. "I don't know." She gave him a weak smile. "Proving that I really can't knit, even if I don't have my mother hovering over me."

Alfie grunted, then moved to pick up his paper again, but Mabel stopped him.

"So, tell me about Billy Hill? He needs to be gone, but you can't be seen doing it? Why not? You've taken out enemies before."

It was Alfie's turn to half-sigh. "Not exactly an enemy anymore. I made a splashy show of joining up with him, so I could get closer and find out what he was up to. Now, I can't remove him without blacklisting myself."

"Are you sure that would happen?"

Alfie thought of his first impressions of the Peaky Blinders and Tommy double-crossing Billy Kimber. That reputation had followed him for a long time.

"Oh yeah," he said, "quite sure."

Mabel thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Why don't you just go to his boss."

Alfie looked at her. "His boss?"

"Yes, dear, everyone has a boss."

Alfie frowned. "I don't have a boss," he muttered.

Mabel gave him a knowing look and he frowned harder. She rose from the sofa, stretched, and said, "Come to bed."

Mabel raised an eyebrow in a challenge and he tried his damnedest to scowl at her, but he just couldn't do it. He closed his eyes, shaking his head with a smile on his lips.

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Billy Hill didn't have a boss, per se, but you didn't get where he was at his age without help. Alfie found Billy's mentor easily enough and invited himself to an impromptu meeting. Gangsters hated it when you did that.

Alfie sat across from the older gentleman, looking for all the world like he was in his own office, granting a meeting with this man out of the goodness of his heart. The man didn't appear to appreciate it.

"I tell you what, I'm gonna be honest with you," Alfie said, leaning forward. "Because you remind me of my father, God rest his soul, and he would want me to be honest with you." Alfie twirled his cane on the floor. "Truth is," he whispered conspiratorially, and as he leant further toward him, with a lightning bolt of clarity, Alfie realised that the man in front of him didn't remind him of his father. He reminded him of himself. Alfie looked down at himself, his "business" clothes that he wore when he meant business, and the contrasting sharp suit in front of him. They were different men, it was true. Very different. But, in their comparative positions, very much equal. What would Alfie want to hear in his position? "Truth is... " and the words Alfie had mentally prepared on his way over died on his tongue. The cajoling, the veiled threats, the sarcastic hints at violence, surely all anticipated by the suit in front of him, but in the end, he'd probably already made up his mind, and it didn't have anything to do with what Alfie would say next. It was about self-preservation and the safeguarding of what he'd spent a lifetime building. He would do what it took to protect it, and of all the men who could be sitting across from him, Alfie understood that.

Alfie shifted in his seat, and he could feel Abe next to him tense. "Truth is, mate, I could run your man into the ground, I really could. And I have sat in your chair and done the calculations you're doing, and we both know that it would be detrimental to my business, and I might have to cash in a few favours, but I could do it if I really wanted. And you've got to make a choice, right? Fucking war, or fucking peace. So I'm gonna talk plain. I don't want your shipping business, mate."

The man in front of him didn't shift or blink, just stared at Alfie and waited.

"What I want, is I want to run my business, and I want you to run your business, and we each go about our merry fucking way, right? What I want is…"

And Alfie sighed and ran a hand down his face, suddenly feeling every day of his age. He sat back in his chair and looked at the man in front of him.

"Look, mate. I've got people, right? People I'm responsible for, people I protect, with my dirty little bit 'o' crime and my dirty little corner of the world. And you do too. We protect our own, am I right? Because the good Lord above knows that no one else is doing it for us. And Billy fucking Hill doesn't get that. He's a fucking lunatic, mate. He's dangerous, untrustworthy, and uncooperative. He talks about kidnapping children and killing people's wives for fuck's sake!"

Alfie could hear the passion in his tone, and for good or ill, he let it ride. He didn't know the man in front of him, he didn't care to. He didn't know if this was falling on deaf ears, but if he didn't try, then the only option was to take him out and lose the men along the way. He didn't want that.

He leant forward again, elbows on his knees. "I said I'd talk plain, and here it is. I'll make you a deal. Either you get rid of him and send a replacement, or I'll get rid of him and you'll still have to send a replacement, except you could lose your shipping business in the meantime. Because I want what I want, and if I can't go through you, I will go right the fuck over you."

The man in front of him was still gazing calmly at Alfie, and now that he'd said his piece, he folded his hands across his blotter on his desk, straightened a piece of paper, and licked his lips.

"Well, Mr Solomons. You are not at all like I'd been lead to believe you would be."

Alfie wasn't sure what to say to that, and so he said nothing.

The gentleman reached under his desktop and withdrew the pistol Alfie had assumed was there, setting it casually on the desk. Abe next to him opened his jacket to give him better access to the pistol he carried in the holster, and let the man see him do it.

He nodded. "Mr Solomons," he said, "you claim 'you want what you want'. Before you came in here today, I'd assumed that was to take over the business you've been trying to break into without success. Now, however, I'm less sure. Can you explain to me exactly what it is you do want?"

Alfie wanted to live in a world where he wouldn't have to send Mabel up the river if he accidentally impregnated her, but he obviously couldn't say that here. He scratched his beard. "'M trying to expand my business, obviously. I was willing to go through the proper channels, pay your man his due, let both of us make money. However, Hill had no interest in that, preferred to play games and try to pit gangs against one another. You are only going to make enemies in this town if you can't work with people at the very least when it benefits you."

He seemed to be considering, his eyes tightening at the corners as he studied Alfie. "And you do know that I can't just be sending you someone else every time you don't get your way. We aren't children, after all."

Alfie nodded once, his eyes trained on the impassive face in front of him. "We most definitely are not,' he agreed. "However, if Billy Hill was in my employ, I would want to know what he was doing. If you knew and you approve, well, then this was a friendly visit to inform you that I will destroy myself to take you down. I won't have my people live in a city where they are being made unsafe because of my associations. The Jews in London have enough to deal with."

"And outside of it, if I understand correctly."

Alfie's face darkened and he nodded again, once. He had heard rumours… well, that was neither here nor there. He had to deal with what was in front of him, now. All else could wait.

"Very well, Mr Solomons. Consider your request granted. Please keep in mind that today's interactions are no indication of a future working relationship, and I look forward to the income you have promised to provide."

Alfie gritted his teeth, swallowing every snarky comment that came to his lips before standing. Well, almost every comment. "You know I don't normally make "requests" as you put it. I make demands. And they get obeyed. I'm sure you know the feeling."

The man stood also, facing Alfie. He stared back, saying nothing. But he held out his hand, and Alfie, after a second's hesitation, took it.

" _Sholom_ , Mr Solomons."

Alfie's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Mmph. _Sholom_."


	39. DIY Happily Ever Now

A/N: Well, folks, this is it! Almost a year to the day that I started this crazy story, my first ever fanfic (my first ever anything, really), and I can't believe the outpouring of love and kind comments that I've seen on this site. You guys sure know how to make a girl feel good.

Extra special thanks to my toiling and put-upon beta, Lystan, to whom I am forever grateful for getting me into the quicksand that is fanfiction, and then encouraging me, supporting me, and kicking me in the butt as I wrote my own.

If you've read this story all the way up to here, just know that you're my favorite person ever. Yes, you. Drop me a line sometime, I'm nice! Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Mabel stepped through the creaky wooden doors of the bakery, looked over the poorly lit floor and felt like she was coming home. The first breath in through her nose told her most of what she needed to know, but she owed it to the place and her employees to re-familiarize herself. She set off down the hallway and gave a small sigh of relief when she saw Harold at his post.

" _Guten Morgen_ ," she greeted him, and he smiled. He gave her the status report she asked for, told her a bawdy joke, and blinked when she asked him what she could get that would make his job easier. He laughed and told her he'd have to think about it but he'd let her know.

She made the rounds, stopping in with each area, and asked them the same questions, and checked to see if they'd heard Harold's latest joke. It was good to see the crew and hear their stories, ask about their kids. Mabel promised herself she would make it a point to walk the floor regularly.

Which was why Mabel was so annoyed when her good mood plummeted to icy black. As she rounded the corner to her office, she noticed that the door was shut, when she had specifically left it open. Mabel tapped the holster hidden on her thigh, debating.

When she finally turned the handle, it was with the small, ivory handled revolver still snug in its holster. It wouldn't necessarily make her feel more powerful, only more obvious, and she wasn't sure how this conversation would go. She wasn't sure Wilma had realised she'd been found out yet. She wrestled with the notion of actually shooting the woman whom she'd considered her friend and then scowled. However this conversation went, she was not going to feel guilty about Wilma Fitzgerald.

She regretted it as soon as the door swung open. Wilma was not working or waiting for her in her office. Sitting in her chair with his feet crossed at the ankle, cool as you please, sat a dark haired, olive skinned man she'd never seen before. He had his own pistol in one hand, and as she entered, he stubbed out the cigarette he'd been smoking with the other. The pistol was steady in his hand, unwavering, definitely a threat, but not pointed at her. She might have understood a pistol pointed at her, hell, she'd decided multiple times over that she was okay with being a target. But the pistol wasn't targeting her, it was pointed at the ground at the man's feet. And sitting at his feet, staring up at him with her tongue lolling, was Peaches.

It happened in a second, because it couldn't have taken longer, she could _not_ have just stood there, powerless and flabbergasted for far too long, staring at a man who was threatening her _dog._ When she finally moved, though, it was flawless. She pushed aside her bulky skirts, withdrew the gun the way she'd practised so many times, and pointed it between the man's eyes.

His slicked back hair and teeth gleamed in the lamplight when he smiled at her. His hand stayed where it was, and Peaches would have come to her, except the man twisted his hand in her collar to hold her there.

The only sound in the room was Peaches's hot breathing and loud swallows as she strained against the tight hold on her collar.

The man with the oiled-back hair sneered a smile at her. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

"No," Mabel clipped out. "And I don't care. You're pointing a gun at my dog."

He smirked. "So I am."

He seemed disinclined to continue the conversation, but Mabel could feel her arms getting weaker already from holding the gun up like this. She knew she needed to move this along because she refused to back down because her arms were tired.

"So stop it, and we can both go home," she said, her teeth gritted.

And the asshole actually chuckled. "Now why would I want that?"

"What _do_ you want?" she asked, her voice snippy and she tried to hold on to her anger.

He began to obscenely pet Peaches' head with the gun, stroking it over her short fur, the cold metal looked distasteful against her soft ears. "My name is Billy Hill."

Mabel froze, her eyes flitting up from where she was watching him pet her oblivious dog and locking onto his cold, brown, and slightly dilated eyes.

"Ah, so you do know me. Well, that'll save us some time."

Mabel readjusted her grip on the pistol and said, "Let her go. Please, she didn't do anything."

"And again. Why would I want to do that?"

"So you don't get shot!" she yelled, her fear bleeding into her words and making her hands tremble, just a bit. She immediately took a breath, trying to calm herself.

Billy Hill tsked and shook his head at her. "Oh, sweetheart, we both know you're not going to shoot me." The condescension in his tone was grating, and Mabel felt herself still, her stubborn streak making her narrow her eyes at the man.

"The gun in my hand says otherwise, Mr Hill."

And the man in the ridiculously expensive suit, the one with the gun pointed at him, actually snorted. "Oh, sweetheart. You might as well put that down now because I know that even if I do this…"

And he pointed his gun at Peaches and pulled the trigger. The shot that rang out in the small room was deafening, so Mabel didn't hear her own scream. She froze, her eyes riveted on the small, crumpled body in front of her, a mangled mess of fur and blood and she would see it in her mind's eye forever. A small, strangled noise worked its way out of her throat and she couldn't tear her gaze away.

"See?" Billy Hill chuckled, the curl of smoke still rising from his gun. "If you were really going to do something, if you actually had the bollocks to shoot me, then you'd have done it by-"

But he didn't get to finish because Mabel swung the gun that she'd lowered to her side into his face and pulled the trigger. The wall behind her desk spattered with blood as the left side of his head exploded and Mabel's knees started to buckle.

She registered somewhere the door to her office flying open and no less than five men flooding in, drawn by the sound of gunfire, but it was like she was watching it happen to someone else.

"Boss? Boss!"

"What the hell?"

"Fuck, holy fuck."

"Somebody catch her, she's…"

"We gottcha, we gottcha, Boss, it's alright. Just breathe."

Mabel couldn't remember the last time she'd breathed, and decided it was a good idea. She drew in a shuddering breath and then another. Strong arms were keeping her from slumping to the floor and someone lead her to a chair where her knees promptly gave out.

"Fuckin' hell. What the hell happened, Boss?"

She dimly watched someone pry the gun from her fingers and set it on the desk. Someone else was standing between her and Peaches' body, but she could still see it. She'd always be able to see it.

"Billy Hill," she said, her voice faint and far away, "Shot my dog."

There were more words, and someone said Alfie's name, and then someone else said Mabel's name, her real name, and she tried to blink away the image of two bodies lying in front of her, one with his legs still oddly crossed at the ankle and one who used to fit behind the curve of her knees. Whose large square head would always find her hand when she needed it most, and whose wide tongue would lick her fingers whenever she came in the door. One who would carry one of Alfie's shoes in her mouth from place to place when he was gone for long periods, and one who would fetch the bundle of rags they'd twisted together for her endlessly.

Mabel had been moved to a different room, but it didn't matter. She still saw them.

"Mabe?"

The rough, familiar baritone finally cracked the haze and she blinked into Alfie's blue eyes.

"Oh," she breathed, and little things started to filter in. Alfie's hand was on her cheek, he was kneeling in front of her. She was sitting in a chair. She had blood on her dress. She would have to throw it away. She didn't like this dress anyway. She was in the warehouse, but she didn't remember coming down the stairs. But she must have because here she was. She worried for a moment that one of her crew had carried her, like a baby, and she frowned.

"Mabel," Alfie prompted again, and she looked at him. There was concern in his eyes, fear and worry, and the creases it made in his forehead were beautiful. They were. She wanted to run her thumb over them, but she couldn't get her arm to cooperate.

"Can you hear me?"

His voice was beautiful too. She wondered if she'd ever told him that. She needed to. She needed to tell him every day, so he wouldn't ever wonder that she didn't know. Because of course she knew. She was the resident expert on Alfie.

"Mabel!" he said, his voice a little too loud and his fingers wrapped around her arms, shaking her and biting a little too hard, and she felt the sting of tears at her eyes.

"He killed her, she's gone" she said brokenly, and then the tears came, hot and silent, coursing down her cheeks like a curse.

"I know," Alfie said, his voice and his fingers gentle again.

"I shot him. I shot him and he's dead. I…" Mabel blinked, her eyelids creaking shut and back open. "I killed him," she said, her voice strangled. "I don't even… I just…"

"I know," Alfie said again. "'S alright, love, I know."

"You need me," Mabel blurted, and Alfie's face changed from concerned care to confusion. Mabel's arms finally worked when she told them to come up to cup his jaw and she made careful note of the way the coarse hairs felt under her fingertips. "You feel this way every time too, don't you?" It wasn't a question, per se, just an observation. "I know you do, and Lord knows, I need you right now. So I know you need me."

Alfie was quiet, then he tipped his head against hers, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. "I do," he muttered.

After that, it was even more of a blur. The police showed up, taking statements from everyone which consisted of mostly grunts and glares. Alfie did most of the talking, which was interesting as he hadn't been on the grounds when it happened. Mabel gave a short version of the story before Alfie positioned himself between her and the officers and said that she needed to go home. One officer was either brave enough or stupid enough to tell Alfie he was wrong, and that Mabel would be spending the night in jail until a judge said otherwise, and Alfie lost his mind.

He ranted and raved, spittle flying from his mouth and the scent of the officers' sweat mixing with the smell of rum, until Mabel, stomach churning, placed a hand on his arm.

"Alfie? Can you take me home? Please?"

Alfie stopped mid-sentence, nodded at her and said, "Sure, love. Just let me finish up here."

It took a few more phone calls and a few more police officers, but eventually Alfie convinced them to release Mabel into his care and he steered her towards the car and his house.

The door had been kicked open and Alfie had to force it closed again, cursing and fuming. Mabel watched him, a niggle in the back of her mind that she was forgetting something, and she almost lost it when she realised it was to feed Peaches and let her out.

She must have made some kind of sound because Alfie turned with a worried look. She shook her head, but he came to her anyway, and she sagged into his arms. He didn't say anything, just let her cry, really cry, his arms wrapped around her shoulders and her tears soaking his shirt.

When she was through, he wiped his own face, then kissed her forehead too hard and steered her to the bathroom.

Mabel filled the sink with warm water and was quiet while Alfie unpinned her hair. He took a flannel, wiped her face, neck and hands, rinsed it, and let the rust coloured water down the drain. Then he refilled it, and Mabel washed his face too, wiping the beloved wrinkles on his forehead, the crinkles by his eyes, the bridge of his strong nose. When she rang out the cloth, the same rust coloured water appeared and Mabel froze, not understanding.

"Alfie, what-"

"It was a long day. I'll explain tomorrow," he said gently.

Mabel frowned. "I'd rather know now if it's all the same."

He sighed, taking the cloth from her and hanging it to dry. "Wilma," was all he said, and Mabel didn't know how to feel.

"Is she dead?" Her voice sounded wooden.

Alfie turned to face her. "Yes." His voice was unapologetic, firm, sure.

When she said, "Good," hers was too.

Alfie frowned and nodded, understanding and not judging. He led her to the bedroom with his hand on the small of her back, and undressed her, slow and careful, her dress turned inside out and placed outside the door. He brushed her hands away when she fumbled for his trousers and instead tugged one of his old shirts over her head and Mabel fought down the ridiculous urge to cry again. She fed her arms through the sleeves, and Alfie carefully lifted her hair out of the collar. She gave him a wobbly smile and he ran the pad of his thumb over her lips. His face was fierce and intense, like he was memorising her and she closed her eyes. She didn't want to think anymore. She wanted Alfie to overwhelm her, take over each of her senses one by one and drive out anything that wasn't him, right now, in this moment.

"Alfie," she whispered against his thumb. "I need you."

He understood, thank God, and then they didn't need words. He made love to her slowly, purposefully, each press of his wide fingers into her skin and each swipe of his lips felt deliberate and exact. He took his time, and when she finally tipped over the edge, gasping and shuddering around him, it was almost like an afterthought. He kissed away the tears that leaked from her eyes, gathered her to him and seemed to understand her need to clutch him closer, press against him harder.

She fell asleep that way, his breath in her face, without an inch between them.

When she woke, the sun was high on her pillow, the birdsong sweet in the late morning air, and Alfie warm at her back. She felt… okay, actually. She would make it through this. This wasn't the end, not of her, and not of this life she'd built.

Mabel stretched, feeling the delicious pull all the way to the tips of her toes and she turned to see Alfie's blue eyes staring at her. She met his gaze and smiled, wistful and soft, but faltered when he didn't smile back. He just stared at her, his face intense and serious. She cocked her head in a question.

"Stay," was all he said, his voice husky from sleep, but strong in its conviction.

She smiled at him again, this time small and confused. "Okay," she replied, turning in his arms to face him and tangling her legs with his.

He didn't drop her gaze, pulling back so he could face her. "Stay forever," he said.

Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. At first, she didn't think Alfie knew what he was saying, but then she realised that, of course, he knew exactly what he was saying. This was Alfie at his most vulnerable, laid bare in a way lack of clothing could do no justice. He was asking her for something that she didn't think he'd ever ask for. But he had. She could see in his face how much he wanted it, the lines of his body, the way he held himself so carefully-just a hair's breadth away from her in case she decided to flee, then he wouldn't force her to stay. He was being so cautious, like he'd been thinking about saying this for hours, waiting for her to wake up, but terrified of how she'd respond.

"Okay," she said again. She said it lightly, like it wasn't a tectonic shift under her feet. Mabel pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then tugged his arm around her so she could cuddle close and tuck her head under his scruffy chin. He let her jostle him into place, drawing her arm around him and getting more comfortable. When they both finally settled again, her with a deep sigh and him with a softer one through his nose and pressing into her scalp, she could feel the way he'd relaxed. She smiled into his neck where she'd pressed her face.

She was happy, she realised. With all the shite, with everything bad that had happened, she _could_ live in this moment forever, if she wanted. She could wake up to this every day and come home to it at night. She could be angry and happy and sad with him and he would see her and hear her and know her like no one before or since. Because when she was with him, she was a truer version of herself than she could ever be with anyone else. And he let her see him, sides of himself she wasn't sure if anyone else ever got to see. Ever. Like now, when he was smelling and kissing the top of her head, trying to get his emotions under control, and she was letting him, giving him a chance to compose himself.

"Mmph," he cleared his throat, "I suppose you'll want the whole thing, now, mmm? Ring and chuppah and Mozel Tov, etc.?"

She let it hang for a moment, then she shrugged one shoulder and answered honestly. "I think I always believed that I _had_ to want the whole thing." He said nothing, but started drawing circles on her back with his fingertips, calming her, so she continued. "I mean, I wouldn't say no to you, but only because I want this, what we have. I don't want it to end." She squeezed him gently. "I didn't think _you'd_ want the whole thing, actually. Do you?"

He cleared his throat again. "No… " he started.

"Me either," she said with finality.

Alfie pulled back again to look her in the eye, pulling her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "But I would for you," he said, his lips a thin line of seriousness.

Mabel gave him a fond smile. "I would for you too."

His intelligent eyes scanned her face, thinking hard. Then he nodded, once, and she could see the edge of his mouth ghost up into a half smile. She grinned at him and tried to kiss him around her smile.

"Promise me something?" she whispered against his lips.

"Mmph."

"If I ever change my mind and decide that _is_ what I want... promise me I can ask you and you'll say yes."

Alfie let out a soft snort and she could practically hear his eye roll even though she was kissing along his scruffy jawline and tugging him even closer.

"That's not how it works, woman."

"No?" she teased, lips against his neck as he rubbed her back. "But if you change your mind and you ask me, I promise _I'll_ say yes."

Alfie sat up without warning and suddenly he was over her, his warm bulk held up by his solid arms, so he wouldn't crush her. He hovered there, his eyes sharp on hers, before he whispered, "Witch."

Then he kissed her breathless and she didn't care about the next 40 years, or even the next 40 weeks. But she was plenty interested in the next 40 minutes. Alfie had taught her that she could live in any moment she chose, drag it out, stretch it to meet her needs, and then move on to the next moment she wanted to live in. When she was with him, she was a master of her own time, her own fate. He made her feel powerful, beautiful, and in control. Who wouldn't want that? There were no guarantees in life, and she didn't want Alfie to give her fake ones. She didn't need all the trappings she'd been told all her life she should want. All she needed was him, and the moments of her choosing in which to live.

 _"This one... I choose this moment. And this one... and this one... and this one..."_

FIN.


End file.
